#i wanna do this so bad but keeping track of all the variables seems so daunting

[ugh-yoongi]

HYPOTHETICALLY [stares at wips folder] if i wrote a love island (or some other reality dating show) au,,,

[mypoisonedvine]

It’s Always The Quiet Ones... | college AU dark!Peter Parker x (slightly)naive!reader

for @nsfwsebbie​​‘s dream fic challenge, I was assigned to write something for @harryspet​​ which was vv exciting bc I love her stuff ;-; no pressure right? lol (also thank you to @evnscvll​​ for being my proofreader, sounding board, and partner for some very strange texting for the purpose of screenshots!)

Here is the prompt I got: peter is a dork and is weird and quiet, and the readers friends dared her to sleep with him. turns out he was really kinky and is really good at sex. can be dark.  And hoo boy, did I run with that.  I hope you like it!!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: smut (it’s consensual but with dubcon undertones, manipulation, and implied coercion/dubcon at the end), stalking, blackmail, voyeurism, and general creepiness.  Oh yeah and there’s some degradation and dacryphilia in there for good measure.

You and your friends were in the middle of your daily cafeteria lunch, chatting about the same sorts of small talk you always did.  

“Oh god, it’s that weird guy from class!” Jackie blurted out suddenly around a mouthful of fries, pulling you out of the conversation you’d been having.  Everyone at the table whipped around and your eyes went wide. 

“Come on, don’t look all at once,” you hissed.  

“Who is this guy?” Cody asked, looking around with confusion.

“The guy in the blue hoodie over there,” Jackie answered, motioning toward him with her head.  It was Peter, setting down his tray of food and opening up his laptop, putting earbuds in.  He was pretty much always on his laptop, it seemed like.  He took a bite of his pizza before getting back to whatever he was working on.

“He looks normal, or normal-ish,” Mia shrugged.  

“No, no, you don’t get it,” you shook your head.  “We have him in Computational Physics on Tuesdays and Thursdays--”

“Plus Friday lab,” Jackie interjected.

“--and he’s… kinda…”

“Creepy,” Jackie concluded.

“No,” you denied, “not creepy.  He’s just… a bit awkward, I guess.”

“And he stares at you, like, the entire time we’re in class.  But won’t even talk to you.”

“Oh, that’s weird,” Mia agreed with a shudder.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it’s kinda… sweet, maybe?  I mean, he’s just shy, right?”

“Oh my god you are such a slag!” Jackie teased, shoving you on the shoulder.  “You’re into him, aren’t you?”

“No!” you denied with wide eyes.  

“You’re just into the attention,” Cody rolled his eyes.

“I mean, it’s kind of flattering, isn’t it?” you admitted.  Jackie laughed.

“You should go over there and talk to him,” she decided.

“Nooooooooo, no way,” you shake your head.

“I kinda wanna see this,” Cody smirks.

“Literally just go over there and flirt with him, his head would explode,” Jackie suggested excitedly.

“I don’t even know how to flirt,” you chuckled.

“So you’re considering it!” Mia accused.

“I didn’t say that!” you squeaked.

“Pleeeeeease,” Jackie whined playfully.  “It’ll be funny.”

“I don’t usually sleep with people for comedic effect.”

“I’ll chip in $20 if you do it,” she offered immediately.  She turned to the rest of the table, “come on guys, we need to pool together and make her do it.”

“I’ve only got a ten,” Cody mumbled, pulling it out slowly before Jackie snatched it away.

“Okay, $30, who can make it $50?”

“Jackie, calm down,” you hissed.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t sleep with him for $50?  He’s cute!”

“I have $35 and 67 cents,” Mia counted, shuffling through her wallet.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, your head falling into your hands.

“Just do it, for me,” Jackie said, suddenly sounding oddly serious.  You didn’t understand why it mattered so much, but you decided it couldn’t be that bad if you just did it.

“Fine, fine, just shut up and don’t stare at us,” you instructed, getting up to a ruckus of cheers.  You didn’t even take the money.

You walked across the cafeteria, messenger bag slung over your shoulder, and hoped you wouldn’t totally make an idiot of yourself.  If you hadn’t already just by talking to a guy over a dare.

He didn’t seem to notice you when you stood by his table, still focusing on his computer.

“Um, hey,” you waved, and Peter looked up at you as he took out his earbuds.

“Hi,” he replied quickly.

“What… what are you working on?” you asked, motioning to the laptop.  He didn’t stop looking at you, and he didn’t say anything.  “I… we have comp together?  You know who I am, right?”

“O-of course I do!” he suddenly perked up.  “Yeah, I just…” he trailed off and turned to his laptop.  “I was just working on this model.”

“Can I take a look?” 

He smiled a little, and moved his backpack out of the seat next to him.  “Go ahead!”

You sat down and leaned in to look at his screen.  

“It’s-- it’s not finished but, basically I just put the kinetic energy of an object on the x-axis, the potential energy on the y-axis--” 

You used the laptop’s touch screen to move the model around, impressed with his work.  “And the z-axis is the conservation of energy for work done on an object,” you finished.  

“Uh, yeah, exactly,” he nodded.

“It’s beautiful!” you realized, appreciating the variety of colors as each data point was suspended in the graph.  

“Do you do any modeling?” he asked you, and for a hot second it felt like a line.

“Um,” you laughed, “no, not much at least.  Nothing extracurricular.”

“Oh.”

“I’m more into abstract math, if I’m being honest.”

He smiled.  “Oh, you’re one of those.”

You laughed, shoving him on the shoulder playfully, but regretting it as you saw his smile drop a bit.  “People are so judgmental about abstract math, as if it isn’t the study of the founding principles of mathematics.”

“So you think adding a pineapple and a banana is the foundation of mathematics?” he quirked an eyebrow.

“Okay, there’s so much more to abstract mathematics than weird variables,” you frowned.  “Like basic functions on matrices!  Don’t act like it isn’t dope as fuck to add, subtract, multiply and divide matrices.  If you saw my whiteboard in my dorm you would understand.”

“If I had a whiteboard now I could prove to you that abstract math is overrated,” he countered.

“I’d love to see you try,” you scoffed.  You hadn’t really meant it literally.  

“I don’t have anything for the rest of the day,” he shrugged.  It took you a moment to realize he was suggesting to actually come to your room and talk about math.  You weren’t sure if that was even what would happen if you went back to your dorm…

You opened your mouth to say that you were busy, that you couldn’t, that you shouldn’t, so you were a little surprised when you heard yourself say “sure” instead.

And that was how you ended up sitting on your kitchen counter with Peter Parker between your legs, kissing you like you’d never been kissed before.

It sort of happened all at once.  He just grabbed you and you were confused but went with it, because life is short and he was cute and his hands felt unexpectedly wonderful as they gripped your back.

You gasped a bit when he started to pull your shirt over your head but he didn’t slow down, quickly removing his own-- oh, hello there six-pack, nice to meet you-- kissing you again as he wrapped his hands around your waist and slid you off the counter, guiding your legs to wrap around his hips.  He carried you to the bedroom with unexpected grace; he was so much stronger than he looked.  And he looked different than he ever had before as he tossed you down onto your bed and started to kiss his way down your abdomen while his fingers slipped under the waistband of your shorts.

“Oh god, Peter!” you yelped as he kissed along your thighs, pulling down your shorts and underwear and tossing them to the side.

“Say my name again,” he demanded before instantly latching onto your clit, sucking and licking directly onto the bundle of nerves.

And you really had no choice in the matter, his name pouring from your lips over and over, accentuated with a yelp as he shoved two fingers into you, finding and massaging your g-spot before you could even process everything you were feeling.

“Oh my god, fuck, Peter!” you hissed, your head falling back onto the mattress so hard it bounced a little.

You were barreling towards an orgasm faster than you probably ever had before.  This was nothing like the few other hook-ups you’d had since starting college-- it wasn’t even like the times you’d been alone with your hand or a vibrator.  This was like an assault on the senses, so powerful that you couldn’t even really keep track of the sounds you were making or anything that wasn’t his mouth on you and his fingers in you.

“I’m gonna come, oh my god, I’m gonna come don’t stop please--” you moaned as your words turned into mostly incoherent nonsense.  How could you be expected to form a sentence in these conditions?

Thankfully, he didn’t stop.  He kept lapping at your clit as if he hadn’t even noticed your pleading, his fingers twisting inside you even as your walls clenched so tightly around them that it became difficult to keep up the pace.  Your hips involuntarily bucked against his face, your legs quivered as he refused to give you any reprieve from the sensation, but he kept going.

“Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck Peter I can’t-- it’s too much-- oh god,” you babbled, but it fell on deaf ears.  A small part of your brain was confused why he wouldn’t stop-- you hadn’t told him outright to stop but it was kind of implied, right?  Wasn’t it some amount of not okay that he was still going?  It made your gut sink in a way that was equal parts disturbing and erotic.  

You were trying to pull away but his arms wrapped around your thighs and held you down.  God, he was strong.  He looked kind of skinny in those hoodies he was usually wearing, but now that he was actually exerting some force he was clearly muscular.  You felt helpless and it, oddly enough, turned you on.

“Peter, please, oh my god, slow down I-- I can’t take any more,” you whimpered; your voice came out all high-pitched and squeaky and it would’ve been embarrassing if you had enough brainpower left to care.  

He groaned against your skin but said nothing, using his teeth to lightly graze your clit.  Your whole body jerked at that, a sob tearing from your lips suddenly.  It felt like you were past the point of orgasm now and just lost in some sort of aggressively intense world of pleasure-- it neared pain, really.  You had never been pushed to your limits like this; you hadn’t even realized that there were limits which one could be pushed to this way!  It was exhilarating and exhausting and overwhelming.  You fought tears from forming because it would be so embarrassing to cry right now, and he would probably freak out and think you were hurt or something… maybe you were hurt, you couldn’t even tell at this point.  But at this point, it was unstoppable.  You were fucking crying from the overstimulation and he hadn’t even put his cock in you yet.  Your face was so hot that your own tears felt cool as they poured down your cheeks.

Finally, he stopped when he heard your sobs.  But instead of concern or fear or confusion, his expression was simply joy.

“Oh, you look so cute when you cry,” he cooed, sliding back up your body to kiss your tears away as they fell.  Then he kissed your mouth, open and sloppy and aggressive, and the taste of yourself on his tongue made your head spin.

Before you could collect your thoughts, he pulled back and made quick work of his jeans and boxers-- fuck, he was big.  

“You’re too kind,” he grinned, discarding the clothes and stroking his cock a few times.

You hadn’t realized you had said it out loud, and you felt a little nervous but then he was on you again, kissing you roughly and forcing his tongue into your mouth.  You felt him reaching down, gripping his cock and rubbing it through your folds.  You were soaked, and swollen, and nearly sore.  Every time the tip slid over your clit, you jumped a little.

He pushed into you ever so slightly, moving the head of his cock inside you and nothing more.  You whined with confusion and anticipation, but he continued on teasing you.

“Please,” you whimpered into his kiss.

He pulled back and looked down at you, his eyes blown so wide that they looked like they’d gone black.  “What was that?” he asked, and you sighed because you knew he could hear you the first time.

“Please, Peter,” you repeated, louder, “I need more.”

“More…?”

You sobbed with frustration, and desire.  “Fuck me, please.”

He thrusted forward and you groaned as his cock stretched you open.  It was like night and day, how he went from slowly teasing you to slamming into your eager walls.  You cried out and gripped at his arms, just trying to steady yourself and maybe stop your skull from whacking the headboard if possible.

“You love it, don’t you?  You love my cock,” he growled.  His voice was lower, gravelly.  He sounded like an entirely different person.

“Yes,” you replied weakly.

“Say it,” he demanded.

No one had ever talked to you like this before and it made your cheeks burn.  “I-- I love your cock,” you stammered.  

He smiled and you hoped you’d done it right, and that he wasn’t smiling at your obvious nervousness or lack of experience.  You didn’t understand how this was normally supposed to go, because you didn’t normally hook up with people so casually-- you had just never really been interested in it.  But now that he was fucking you so hard you could barely breathe, you were starting to get the appeal.  God, your last boyfriend hadn’t even made you come in five months of dating, meanwhile five minutes with Peter had made you a sobbing mess.  Even now you were biting your lip to hold back your tears from the sheer intensity of the sensations you were experiencing.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he pouted condescendingly.  “You don’t wanna cry but you can’t help it, huh?  You’re my dumb little crybaby aren’t you?”

You tried not to react to that but you knew he felt your walls clench suddenly.

“You like that?  You like being my stupid whore?”

“S-stop,” you begged weakly, feeling beyond humiliated.

“But you like it, angel, I can tell.  Don’t lie to me.”

He reached down to swirl his thumb over your clit, laughing at the way you tensed up and tried to squirm away.

“Is it too much princess?” he asked, but the nickname read less sweet and more mocking.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?  You asked me to fuck you.  Begged me.  Now you act like you can’t take it, like you’re this delicate little flower and not the dirty fucking whore I know you are.”

“I-- I’m not a whore,” you denied even as you struggled to suppress your obvious arousal from the derogatory nature of his words.  You felt a little guilty for being into it, and slightly insulted, but fuck if it didn’t make your back arch and your throat dry and your pussy so excessively wet.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he scoffed.  “But, maybe you’re not playing.  You really are dumb, aren’t you?”

You logically knew that it was too late to deny anything he said, but you still clung onto your dignity as best you could.  “N-no!”

“Not all the time, just when you’re wet.  Isn’t that right?  You get so desperate for cock and you don’t wanna be smart, you just wanna be somebody’s brainless fuckdoll.”

That sounded so appealing in some forbidden, filthy way and all of a sudden you were going to come again, any second now.

“Yes!” you nearly screamed, falling into your pleasure.

“Come on my cock, baby,” he encouraged, “come for me.”

You didn’t even sound like yourself with the noises you made, or maybe it was just that you’d never had the chance to make noises like that before.  Either way, your orgasm crashed through you and nearly punched the air out of your lungs.  Your toes went numb.  You didn’t even know that could happen.  And most important of all, your walls tensed and fluttered so hard that he began moaning into your ear.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna come inside you.”  You couldn’t tell if it was a warning, like he was asking permission, or if he was just informing you of his intentions which you would be powerless to stop even if you told him not to.  You didn’t have to find out because you were on the pill, but it made you realize all too suddenly that you should’ve had him put on a condom-- how could you have forgotten?

His moans turned hoarse and with a growl and a tightened grip on your hips, he spilled deep in you, coating your walls as his length flexed and twitched inside you.  For a moment you were just stuck like that, his weight holding you down as he caught his breath, and finally he rolled to the side and you could breathe cool air again.

“That was…” he began but trailed off, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder.  “You’re amazing.”

It was quite the shift from how he had been talking before.  It was comforting, but you were still a little confused.  “Really?”

He laughed softly.  “Did you not notice?  God, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

You were curious about where he was going with that, but then he suddenly sat up.

“Do you want some water?” he offered.

“Uh, yeah,” you smiled.  “The cups are in the cabinet just to the left of the microwave.”

He nodded and gave you a quick peck on the cheek before sliding out of the bed, slipping his boxers on over his still-hard cock which was now coated in your come and his, and dashing out of the room.

You were mostly content to just lay there, although you felt uncharacteristically sore between your legs, and quite… sticky.  You glanced over to your whiteboard and realized he never had any intentions of talking with you about abstract math.  Was this just a one-time thing, or was he going to come back and ask you out?  Were you boyfriend and girlfriend now?  Or were you just a clueless romantic who thought that sleeping together meant more than it really did?

You rolled over and saw Peter’s phone resting on the bedside table.  He must have set it there when he was stripping quickly while you two had been making out-- or that’s what you were pretty sure the order of events had been, it had all happened so fast…

At that exact moment, the screen lit up with a notification.  You were about to roll back and not look at all, until you got a glimpse of the words.

PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14

You furrowed your brow.  It looked like an alert for an upcoming class, except that this was your class, the one you had with him, and it wasn’t until tomorrow.  No assignments due today, either.  And what was with the row/seat thing?  Peter didn’t sit in the third row… you did.

You picked up the phone just enough to angle it to see the rest of the notification.  It wasn’t a calendar alert; it was a text message.  “PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14” was the contact name.  You could only get a preview of the message…

okay, it’s done isn’t it?  can you please delete those pic….

You were curious, or maybe just concerned.  Was the seat number supposed to be the person texting him?  How were you supposed to keep track of who sat where to know who it was?

It had to be somebody from your row, but it was just you, Jackie, and a bunch of random dudes that Peter had never seemed to have any interaction with.

You assumed you wouldn’t be able to unlock the phone to even try to snoop, which you didn’t want to do anyways, but when you slid your thumb over the screen, you gasped when it opened straight to the conversation.  Who didn’t put a password on their phone?

okay, it’s done isn’t it?  can you please delete those pictures now?  I did what you asked.  I won’t tell anyone.  just send me proof that the photos are gone, please.

You felt a little sick.  You had no idea what this meant but it scared you.  You saw the conversation from before but it didn’t make any sense.  You scrolled back up to try to figure out what they were talking about and gasped when you saw a picture Peter had sent to the contact.

It was Jackie.  But she wasn’t alone.  She was on her knees in the lab room, and you gagged when you realized what she was doing-- or really, who she was doing it to.  

She’d told you she had a casual thing with a new guy but refused to say who it was.  You realized why now.  She was fucking your professor, and you just knew she was doing it to get a better grade.  You had been trying to figure out how she was earning higher marks than you but never seemed to be able to discuss the class material.  It all made sense now, but it wasn’t a comforting feeling.

You scrolled down a bit to see the conversation after the photo, and your blood went cold as you read it.

You saw several more messages but you couldn’t bring yourself to read any of it.  You knew everything you needed to know.

You weren’t sure what inspired you to open his camera roll… of course you wouldn’t find anything comforting there.  But you had to see for yourself.

It was just a list of folders, so many you could keep scrolling for ages.  Each had a label and a thumbnail image.

The thumbnail of Jackie on her knees jumped out first.  PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14.  45 images.

A girl in a lacy bra posing for the camera.  PHYS 509, row 1, seat 8.  12 images.

Two girls making out in a crowded room, holding red solo cups.  ENGL 104, row 12, seat 5.  6 images.

A nude selfie in front of a mirror.  PHIL 108, row 2, seat 2.  14 images.

And then the one that made your heart stop.  It was a picture of you in a bikini, taken by a friend on spring break.  PHYS 507, row 3, seat 13.  1 image.

The second you jumped up, dropping the phone, he was there with your promised glass of water in hand.  

“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.  Just a second of silence was enough for him to pick up his phone from the floor and realize what had happened with a grin.  “Oh, that,” he sighed, slipping it into his pocket after looking down at it with a sort of loving look, like he was proud of his work.  “I suppose it’s my fault for leaving my phone right there, without a password, knowing I would get a text from Jackie any minute.”

“You wanted me to see it,” you grimaced, “you wanted me to see what you did to my friend.  What you did to all those girls.”

“I didn’t do anything.  They do all the heavy lifting, I just hack them and get pictures of it.  Or, in your friend’s case, I hack them, find out they’re fucking the professor, and follow them to their next rendezvous.”

“You’re fucking sick,” you spat, and he just shrugged.  “You’d better delete those photos of Jackie.”

“I will, don’t worry,” he soothed.  “It’s a shame though, she was pretty prolific.  You, on the other hand, you’re a good girl.  You even had pretty good security, I respect that.  Here’s a tip: your ISP creates the intranet that your wireless webcam uses to connect to your laptop.  It’s password protected, but it defaults to your phone number, and most people never change it.  Including yourself.”

You shivered.  “You watched me with it, didn’t you?”

“Well, I had to since you didn’t have any good photos of yourself.  And you do a decent job of erasing your porn history… but not a perfect job.  You watch some interesting stuff.  And you look so hot with your hand stuffed in your panties, rubbing yourself to whatever nasty shit you’re watching...”

“Shut up,” you demanded, covering your ears, “stop, please.  This is so fucked up.”

He laughed a little.  “You look better in person though.  A webcam could never capture how perfect you look when you come.”

“Please just stop,” you sobbed.

“Stop what?  I’m just telling you the truth.”

“I should’ve listened to my friends.  You’re a freak.”

“Hmm, you seemed to like it before.”

“Just delete those pictures of Jackie… and let me go…” you seethed.

“I will,” he promised.  “But, I need something to make up for the loss of some great spank bank material.”

You felt sick.  But what else was new?

“I need to finally get some good pictures of you.  Come on, isn’t it sad that your folder is so empty?” he pouted, pulling the phone back out from his pocket. “I could ruin a lot of lives with these folders.  Just let me take a few photos and you can spare them all the humiliation.  Nothing I haven’t seen you do before.”

You really really wanted to just deck him, but you knew he could probably release those photos with just one push of a button.  He was prepared.

“Don’t post them,” you pleaded.

“You’ll be good?”

You clenched your jaw.  “I’ll be good,” you answered through your teeth.

“Oh, look at you,” he cooed, “such a sweet girl you are.  Helping out your friend even after she threw you into the lion’s den to protect her secret.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way.  A pit formed in your stomach.

“Now come over here and get on your knees,” he grinned, turning on the camera.    

[lady-of-lyon]

So, I made one post a while back about how awesomely feminist the show Wild Kratts was, with how its two main female characters were women of color in engineering and deserving roles of power, female villains who weren’t motivated by spite or quest for youth, etc, but today I wanted to talk about something slightly different, that I’ve wanted to cover for a while now, because I also think it’s very good - and that’s how the show portrays masculinity, in a way that’s really positive!

First, we have our two main characters, Chris and Martin Kratt. Keep in mind these two are basically self-inserts - and there are plenty of creators, especially males, who have used self-insert characters in really scummy ways - all I have to say is Powerpuff Girls reboot and you know exactly what I’m talking about. Even if they weren’t literal self-inserts, male characters, superheroes especially, oftentimes serve the male power fantasy, being just the strong, stoic, all-powerful person so many boys are told they’re supposed to be. I could get into a whole discussion about how the male power fantasy is present even when males are not (ever look through a fashion magazine and wonder why there are so few men? Sure, part of it is that the industry thrives off exploiting women’s insecurities, and men aren’t as concerned for their appearance, but another part of it is so that the guy, looking through it, can feel like he has no competition for these women - there’s a reason so many comedians have jokes about fashion magazines being their sexual awakening as kids. It’s really scummy) but that’s not what this is about. So, the bros had every opportunity to do just that - make themselves these traditional heroes who aren’t actually really good role models, like batman or what have you. It’s certainly not uncommon for celebrity cartoons to do stuff like that. But Martin and Chris chose a different approach. They’re pretty strong standouts for positive masculinity. They’re openly affectionate - both with eachother as brothers, and with their friends. They cry, sometimes over little things - most of the time when big superheroes cry, it’s ‘cause they lost the girl they loved or their mentor or something like that, only in the big, most agonizing moments do they shed a tear. But here, Chris or Martin will cry just because they’ve had a bad day, or because they’re overwhelmed and overjoyed that someone named a mantis after them! In a lot of shows or movies when a guy cries over something little, it’s usually played for laughs, or to emasculate him, but here it’s casual without being unreasonable or overdone. The brothers cry just ad much, maybe even more (haven’t gone back and counted or anything) as the girls do. Not to mention, it’s a very nice depiction of a loving, healthy sibling relationship. As the youngest sibling myself, it’s refreshing to see a pair who don’t abuse eachother with noogies or cruel and snarky remarks. When they do fight, it’s never a screaming match, and also because they had a conflict of interest or disagreed over a fact, not because, say, one of them stole the other’s shirt or is neglecting the other’s feelings. Kids, being very impressionable, get exposed to a lot of abusive sibling relationships played as normal in media, and start thinking this is how siblings are and should act. For instance, my sister (who is now my best friend and has gotten over all these bad habits over time) when she was younger watched a lot of Kim Possible, a show that is great, but has a bad family dynamic with Kim and her little siblings. The “tweebs” as she calls them are always irresponsible, destructive, and making Kim annoyed to no end. My older brother was one of the most polite, reserved, kind little kids, but she still treated him like he was a brat and a nuisance, because that’s what shows like Kim Possible taught her little brothers were. Additionally, I was always treated like a spoiled crybaby who just wanted attention and got away with everything - I was not any of those things, ever, but that’s what shows teach you little sisters are. Sure, Wild Kratts has a smidge of that, with Chris seemingly being the stereotype of the know-it-all little sibling, but instead of being constantly looked town upon for being too “perfect” like with Hailey Long in American Dragon, Martin often praises his brother for his abilities. Sure, Martin gets annoyed when Chris tries to correct him on things, like in the episode Wolf Hawks, but everyone else does too, so it feels more like a take-down of mansplaining than a sibling spat.

I talked too in the feminist post about how refreshing it is that Chris and Martin more or less willingly put themselves under the authority of Koki and Aviva, two women of color. I don’t think it’s possible to say any one character is the “leader,” they all work as a evenly balanced team, but it’s safe to say that Koki and Aviva make the more responsible decisions. The bros try to get out of their calls a few times, but the show plays it more like they’re being irresponsible, and less like they’re renegade cool dudes who don’t take nothing from nobody, especially not two girls. They are pretty much always punished via karma for their reckless choices, most especially in To Touch a Hummingbird, where their arrogant attitudes blow up in their faces rather spectacularly. We also never see the narrative most present in sitcoms, where the male leads mess up and go out of their way to cover it up and ultimately gets away with it - after all, you have to root for them, right, because sure they messed up and had no consequences, but aren’t they just so lovable? No, here Martin and Chris always have to fix their wrongdoing, and it’s always deserved when they get comeuppance. Another aspect of the show I like is that, many times, when the bros get captured or are in peril, they are saved by the women - and most refreshing of all, there’s never a moment of “wink wink nudge nudge wow I can’t believe I had to be rescued by a GIRL” or even “wow you saved me you’re pretty good honey guess I shouldn’t have underestimated you, you go girl!” No, when the girls save them, it’s just - you know, relief? Because they were saved? It’s never a scenario played as an exception, or any more dire than when the bros need to rescue eachother. The bros are genuinely happy to have them as teammates. The show even did the standard “boys vs girls” episode in the form of When Fish Fly - but instead of being actually girls vs. boys, it’s engineers vs. adventurers. There’s nothing really gendered about it - the girls happen to be engineers, and the boys happen to be adventurers. And the episode doesn’t end with the boys being “wow gosh darn I shouldn’t have doubted you girls are better at everything,” it’s a mutual agreement that both parties have hard jobs. Basically, the bros are very naturally respectful of women. That plays more into their feminist narrative too, but either way, it’s refreshing.

Then, we have Jimmy! Jimmy, the lovable gamerboy pizza man. At first glance Jimmy seems like the stereotypical cowardly, pathetic, emasculated loser. He’s frightened of most things, as of yet has no power suit, and he BAKES for crying out loud! But none of these things are framed as terribly bad traits. Sure, we laugh when he screams and runs from an animal, but though it happens over and over, the crew doesn’t get sick of it. They don’t berate him or belittle him because he’s so gosh darn cowardly. There’s a great scene in Rattlesnake Crystal where Jimmy has to deliver something to the bros alone, in the middle of a spooky desert. He is terrified the whole time, sprinting off after he delivers the goods. When Martin and Chris run into him, they don’t laugh at him for being spooked, they just greet and then bid fair well to their friend. To them, this is just Jimmy, and there’s nothing wrong with it. Jimmy isn’t coddled, but he is reassured many times that he’s a valuable member of the team. I love that little message, that you’re just as important of a person even if you can’t do as much or have greater limits. When his friends do try to get him over his fears, it’s not because they have to, that the day will somehow be ruined by Jimmy’s incompetence p, but because they’re his friends, and want him to experience fun and wonderful things that he would otherwise miss out on. But what Jimmy CAN do is just as important! Jimmy is a gamer, which in a lot of shows, is portrayed as a lazy, useless, mindless hobby. But here, because he plays video games, it makes him essential for piloting the ship and teleporting important items. There’s always the joke that video games improves your hand/eye coordination, but recent studies have shown it has much better effects. It can make you much better at keeping track of multiple moving objects and processing technical but variable information- two traits which, fittingly enough, are really really important for air traffic controllers and airplane pilots! He also demonstrates a lot more courage behind the wheel of the Tortuga, which makes sense - in an impersonal setting, he would have more sense of calm and control and courage, because it’s so similar to a video game world. It’s not all too different with how I feel more emboldened to pick fights with people on the internet, but get crazy anxious if a real person so much as looks at me. So Jimmy’s love of video games isn’t because he’s irresponsible, it has real benefits. A quick last point - Jimmy also eats a lot, but they thankfully don’t make him fat or greedy or anything like that. He never takes food from people, he actually bakes, and shares it with others! Having the baker be a boy is a lovely touch.

I might do another post about the toxic masculinity of the two villains, (or four villains, I guess, if I wanna discuss the minions) but I’ve got other work to do, and this post is long enough already, so I’ll get around to it later. I’ll sum it up with this - Wild Kratts is a show that teaches boys it’s not only ok to be kind, but essential. The brothers protect defenseless animals, advocate for things “icky” and “weird,” like bugs or snakes or worms - not because they’re boys, and boys like icky things, but because they genuinely see the beauty in all life, and are encouraging us to slow down and do the same. The Wild Kratts are heroes who save the world not by being the strongest or smartest or coolest, but by looking after those who are exploited and vulnerable, who are essential to the world, even if they can’t always do everything. In Wild Kratts the only weaknesses a man can have isn’t what he can’t do, but what he does do that he shouldn’t have. Sure, it’s a cute show about two funny guys who have cool powers, but it’s also a show about accountability, compassion, respect and trust. The show says “boys will be boys” in all the right ways - Martin is a lovable goof with a heart of gold, but he still has to get his act together when he messes up, and he’s still creative and smart and openly sensitive. Chris is a bit of a know-it-all show-off, but he can also mess up as much as his brother, and is still bold, brave, adventurous, and can put his money where his mouth is. Jimmy is a cowardly, napping, eating machine video-gamer, but he’s still a valued member of the team, has incredible skills and talents, and will always help his friends, even if he is really, really scared. It is so important to have role models like these, in a world dominated by unhealthy machismo. The Wild Kratts are heroes who save the world - both animated, and real.

All they need now is a canon queer character, and I’ll stan them forever! My money’s on Aviva!!

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Study Habits

Pogue Parry x Reader

Word Count: 2,095

Summary: You are stressing about finals and need to study. When Pogue graciously volunteers to be your study buddy, you don’t refuse the offer. 

Silence and solitude, you decided, were your ideal conditions for studying for finals. Spencer Academy was a fairly serious institution given its status as a prep school, but the library and various common areas tended to transform into social scenes, especially during this point in the semester. As much as you enjoyed the chatter and laughs, you really needed to study in order to pass your physics final and make the honor roll.

At first you tried moving your studying to your dorm, which was definitely quieter, but it didn’t exactly give off study vibes either. It was way too easy to take a nap or raid your snack stash or eavesdrop on conversations that were happening in the hallway.

You looked and looked for a good spot and you finally found it in the discovery of the school’s shop classroom. Not many students at Spencer took wood or metal shop that you were aware of and you were a little surprised those classes were offered at all. The room itself was tucked away in a dim basement that shared space with random storage rooms and an unused bomb shelter, a relic leftover from the 1940s.

The day you found it was also the day you found out that the room’s door wasn’t locked by the teacher, which wasn’t good from a security standpoint, but made entering very easy for you whenever you dropped by after hours to study.

Being a shop classroom, it was mostly open space and machinery, not unlike a garage situation. You were extra careful not to disturb any of the projects-in-progress, even though some of them looked really cool, and avoided all of the tools, most of which you couldn’t name much less identify.

But there were a couple of waist high counter tables along one wall so you could sit down. The height was just right where you could alternate between sitting on a stool and standing on your feet which was honestly better for your circulation. Most importantly, it was abandoned at this time of night and that meant no distractions.

The sneaking around continued for a couple of days until your anxiety had had enough, prompting you to find out the teacher’s information so that you could email them and ask formal permission to use the room when school wasn’t in session. Mr. Clarke seemed happy enough to let you use it and you decided you liked him even though you had never met in person.

It wasn’t even until the second week of studying down there that you finally saw someone other than yourself. You had just finished dinner and made the trek from the dorms to the shop room when you noticed them. A radio played softly in the distance but as you got closer and closer to your spot, you figured out that it was coming from the room.

You paused just outside the door and debated whether you should still go in or not; you really needed to get through some practice problems, but would you still be as productive if someone else was in there? You really should do these problems. Besides, maybe the other person would leave soon.

The metal handle clicked as you opened the door.

A small boombox was blaring some Green Day out of its speakers and figure in a black tee sat next to it fiddling with a hand drill.

Wanting to get his attention before the drill started up you cleared your throat loudly.

Beautiful hazel eyes locked onto you immediately and you felt a little breathless. That was before he turned fully around and you were better able to appreciate his toned chest and arms through the black fabric of his shirt, small barely detectable sawdust particles attached themselves to his jeans.

“Hey there,” he greeted with a raised hand.

Of all people to run into you couldn’t believe that it was Pogue Parry, one of, and in your opinion, the student body’s top eye candies. Dazzled, all you managed was a timid wave back.

He cocked his head, his shaggy hair falling slightly to the side. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Come on, Y/N. Get it together and answer the boy.

“Actually, we have—”

“Physics together,” he finished with a smile. “I know. I meant down here in the shop.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. He recognized you! A Son of Ipswich noticed that you were in a class with him and you were so excited that you managed to ignore the fact that you had misunderstood him. “You’re right about that. I’ve only been coming here for, like, a week. I got permission to study here.”

“Cool. Mr. Clarke is a sweetheart so I’m not surprised.”

Trying to get back on track you asked, “How long do you think you’ll be working on that?”

Both of you looked at the drill.

“You probably want it quiet, huh? I can stop for today, this is just a side project I’m doing anyway, it’s gonna be a tv stand when it’s done. Definitely not as important as a final.”

As much as you felt bad for interrupting him and essentially taking over his spot, you took him up on his offer. He was now the hottest and kindest classmate in your mind. You dropped you backpack on the floor and spread your papers across the countertop trying your best to sneak peeks at Pogue where he was cleaning up a few feet away.

When he finished, he walked over. “What class are you studying for?”

“Physics.”

“No way!” He pulled up a stool and straddled it opposite of you.

It made you nervous to have him watch you write and when he pointed out a mistake you made, you felt like crawling into a hole. The eraser left behind eraser shavings as you corrected the error.

“Hey, wanna work together?” he asked either not noticing your embarrassment or choosing to ignore it.

“Sure,” you said with a shaky voice.

“Cool.”

He wasted no time and grabbed his own copy of the packet, clicking open a pen, ready to go.

You moved to the next problem and read it out loud.

“A block weighing 200 N is pushed along a surface. If it takes 80 N to get the block moving and 40 N to keep the block moving at a constant velocity, what are the coefficients of friction μs and μk?”

Pogue hunched over, quickly working it out when he noticed you sitting still, rubbing the end of your pencil against your mouth. Scooching over to your side of the counter he showed you his work and walked you through his steps.

“Wow, you’re really good at this.”

He laughed off the compliment. “Nah, I promise you I’m a pretty stupid student.”

“But you finished this problem in under a minute,” you insisted. “Meanwhile, I would’ve been stuck for hours and still have gotten it wrong.”

He stared at you and even though you couldn’t get a good read on him, it was too easy to get lost in his eyes. Eventually, he spoke.

“I don’t want to throw off your groove of anything, but maybe we can study together.”

Was this a dream? Because an invitation like that only happened in your fantasies.

“But I don’t know how that benefits you—you seem to a good handle on it already,” you admitted.

“As I told you, stupid student. Besides, my study habits are non-existent so maybe some of yours will rub off.”

You beamed at him, easily convinced. “Well then let’s go over the first problem again because I’m still confused...”

Every night for the next seven days Pogue met you in the basement and walked with you to the classroom for your study session. Despite not having a high opinion towards his academic abilities, he was very patient and effective tutor/partner.

“Wait, remember to multiply the variables in the parenthesis before subtracting it from the total. PEMAS is your friend Y/N.”

He was also very easy to talk to. Whenever he talked about his bike or swim regimen, two things you knew nothing about, he took the time to put it into words you understood without making you feel like an idiot. And when you were feeling chatty, he would actively take an interest in what you had to say.

“Hunger pains after a swim workout are the worst, especially after long swims where your aerobic systems are gassed. It feels like you’re one stomach growl away from wasting away.”

“Oh, speaking of food, I found a granola recipe. I don’t know who decide to mix coconut and cranberries with granola, but that palate combination amazing. I’ll bring you some if it turns out alright.”

“You’d better save me some then, even if it’s not to your ridiculously high standards. I can feed some to the boys, too.”

Time flew by and it didn’t feel like the studying had gone on for a whole week. Each session seemed to pass faster as you got to know him better, to see the him that didn’t have to be filtered for the public eye. You liked this side of him even better than what you have seen of him in class and in the halls.

But all things come to an end. On the last session before the final, you guys finally finished the last question in the review packet with a grateful exhale.

“You sir, are a physics godsend. I can’t believe we’re done with the whole review guide.”

“I hope the final isn’t as long as the guide is. He must’ve stuck every problem we did during the semester in this thing,” he complained.

“I really hope not,” you groaned. Because if it was, there was no way you would finished within the allotted one-hour period.

“But, I have a feeling you’re going to crush the exam. Just try your best not the set the curve too high, for the rest of our sakes.”

You playfully shoved him for the last part of his comment. Silence stretched on and you realized that this was the last time you guys were scheduled to study together. Fast on the heels of that thought was another: you didn’t want to leave. By the way he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, you hoped that meant he was reluctant as well.

“So…” he trailed off and you waited with bated breath. “Guess we should pack up, it’s almost nine.”

Your shoulders slumped in disappointment at his words. “Yeah, I guess.”

For a second, you were tempted to ask him out, or at least see if he wanted to hang out as friends, but you decided against it. He was the type that would’ve spoken up if he were interested. Best just to act dignified and be thankful that he bothered helping you in the first place.

You were steps away from walking out the door when he stopped you by grabbing your hand.

“Actually, what I meant to ask is if you want to get a bite to eat after the test tomorrow. Is that weird?”

Your pulse fluttered in obvious joy.

“You mean like a date?” you breathed.

“Yeah. You’re a pretty cool, Y/N, and I’d be sad if this is the last time we hang out.”

“I would love to,” you assured him with a huge smile on your face.

He reached to slowly envelope you in a hug, and even if the angle was a little awkward due to the backpacks being in the way, you automatically hugged back. You were thrilled to discover that he smelled like an exotic mix of leather and, dare you say, magic.

You were even more thrilled when he walked you back to the dorms like the sweet boy you had observed him to be over the past week. Luckily there weren’t any people loitering out in the hallway because if word got out that a Son of Ipswich had walked you to your room, the whole school would know by morning and you were enjoying the moment far too much to have to worry about that.

“Good luck tomorrow. See you on the flip side,” he said in parting.

That night you laid in bed but felt like you were on cloud nine. In less than twenty-four hours, you would be done with physics for the semester and have had a date with Pogue Parry. Pogue Parry! You snuggled into your pillow and swore his scent still lingered freshly in your nose.

_______________

I was super inspired yesterday and wrote this. Good luck to everyone that’s prepping for final exams! Thanks for reading.  

[thepartyresponsible]

this fill is for verdantmoth, who asked for winterhawk. so here’s an alternate timeline where clint goes awol after the battle of new york, and, eventually, he and bucky end up working for the same circus.

Bucky falls in with the circus when it tours through Bucharest. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. They need manual labor and dependable security, someone intimidating enough to scare off troublemakers but not likely to cause trouble himself. And Bucky needs to move and keep moving, needs to eat, needs to sleep.

It’s still cold, so nobody asks any questions about his long sleeves and gloves. Nobody asks any questions at all, really. Except the archer.

As far as Bucky can clock, the archer is the only American traveling with the circus. He’s tall and blonde and muscular and handsome, has spiderwebs of old scars across his knuckles and elbows, lightning-forks of long-healed knife wounds across the blades of his forearms. He speaks Spanish like he learned it in public school, French like he learned it in Louisiana, Russian like he learned it in prison, and English like he’s fresh from Midwestern farmland, like sometimes he likes vowels so much he can’t quite let them go.

His name’s Clint. He gives a different last name every time someone asks.

“And what did you say your name was?” Clint asks, early on, with a half-smile like he knows damn well Bucky never gave one.

“James,” he says, because that’s what he read off the plaque at the museum before he caught a freighter heading east out of Boston.

“Uh-huh,” Clint says. His smile grows roots and blooms, and there’s no aggression in his eyes, but there’s a watchfulness, a weighing-up. “Your parents give you a last name, James?”

“Rogers,” Bucky says, because he figures last names are about families, and Steve Rogers is the only thing that makes him feel homesick.

“Got it,” Clint says. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

  Clint isn’t in his way very often. He just checks in, from time to time. He must be watching Bucky more than he’s letting Bucky see, because he tends to materialize on particularly bad nights. He brings beer or sometimes whiskey, cigarettes to share. One time, he brings a bottle of clear alcohol in an old jelly jar, and it’s so potent that it almost – almost – has an effect.

“You should be careful with that,” Bucky says, when the bottle’s half gone. Every time he sips, his lips go numb and then sting for a handful of heartbeats. He can’t imagine what it’s doing to Clint, who, despite his perfect aim and perfect arms, doesn’t seem to be enhanced.

“Oh, careful,” Clint says. He half-hums, half-sighs the second syllable of the word, flat on his back on top of his trailer and staring up at the stars.

It’s a strange thing, the night sky. Sometimes, when Bucky looks up, he gets flashes of being here before. Europe was different then. The geography, the buildings. The people. The stars were brighter, he thinks. When they weren’t cloaked over with smoke and ash.

“No fucking use being careful, James,” Clint says. He’s smiling when he says it, but it’s not one of the smiles Bucky likes.

“Plenty of use,” Bucky says. He picks the jelly jar up and relocates it to the other side of his hip. If Clint wants it back, he’ll have to crawl over Bucky to get it. And, as far as Bucky can tell, they haven’t progressed quite that far yet.

“You’re careful,” Clint says, more like a confession than an accusation, “and you’re good, and you work real fucking hard. You try to do things right. And you know what fucking happens?”

What happens is you fall off a train in the Swiss Alps, and HYDRA cuts your mangled arm off with no anesthetic, and they set your brain on fire over and over again until the ashes fall in an arrangement they can use.

“No,” Bucky says. “What happens?”

Clint breathes out, slow and even. Controlled. “You ever fuck up so bad you can’t let people look at you anymore?”

Bucky closes his eyes, and it’s like a lightshow on his eyelids. Faces of all the people he’s killed. We’re building a better world.

Sometimes, he has nightmares. And it should be the things he’s done. It should be all the blood, the kill shots into civilians, the families he’s put down. But it never is. The thing that scares him the most is Steve Rogers, reaching for him. Steve Rogers, with his own blood on his face. Cuz I’m with you til the end of the line.

Sometimes he dreams that Steve finds him, and it scares him so fucking bad he has to go on half-mile, one-mile, two-mile, and five-mile perimeter checks, circling broader and broader and then back in. Can’t sleep for shit after, has to work into the red-gray of exhaustion just to make himself stand down.

Someday, Steve Rogers is going to find him, and he’s going to call him Bucky Barnes, and Bucky doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do.

He can’t fit back into that skin. They cut him out of it. There’s not enough left to stitch shut.

He can live with being a monster, just so long as nobody knows he used to be a man.

“You don’t like when people look at you?” Bucky asks, because he’s been learning about tightrope walking since he joined up, and what he’s learned is that you don’t look down, don’t think about the rope until you have to.

“Well.” Clint props himself up on his elbows, looks over, and grins, crooked and inviting. If there are ghosts at the backs of his eyes, Bucky chooses not to see them. “I don’t mind when you look.”

  Bucky likes watching Clint shoot. He doesn’t go to the shows, because he can’t tolerate the noise of them, the crowd, all the variables he’d need to track to feel safe in a place like that. But nobody cares what he does for long portions of the day, so he finds himself watching Clint practice, sometimes.

He never startles him, and he never tries too. But he doesn’t make a big production about showing up to sit in the grass of whatever field Clint’s found and watch as he nails bullseye after bullseye.

“You ever wanna try, James,” Clint says, once, “just let me know.”

But Bucky isn’t interested in a bow, doesn’t want anything like a weapon in his hands. And he doesn’t break that habit until a bar outside Bratislava, when he’s antsy, feeling exposed, and wishing he hadn’t let Clint’s blue eyes drag him out from the comfortable, anonymous trailer he shares with two hulking Russians who never speak to him beyond asking, politely, what groceries he would like them to pick up.

“They want you, too,” Clint says, half-drunk and animated, gesturing over his shoulder to a pair of locals he’s befriended.

Bucky must make some kind of face, because Clint immediately laughs. “To play,” he says. “Jesus, James. They wanna play doubles. Darts, not a foursome. I wouldn’t just barter you off like that. Not for two beers, come on.”

And he seems happy. Loose-limbed, even-keeled. There’s a misery that comes over him, sometimes, but it’s not here now. And Bucky doesn’t want to ruin that for him. Clint, whatever his secrets, whatever it is he thinks he’s done, is sweet and good-natured and patient with children and stray animals. Good, in all the ways Bucky thinks he used to be, too.

He’s nice. And Bucky isn’t, but Clint makes him want to remember how.

The darts feel like nothing in his hand. Lightweight, not dangerous. He could take out an eye with one, but the tips are so blunted that he’s not sure he could make a killshot. Maybe if he used his left.

Probably if he used his left.

He uses his right. Clint, who’s a showoff even when he isn’t drunk, alternates between hands. They outpace the Slovakians so bad that they laugh off the idea of a rematch, and Clint tightens his hand around Bucky’s wrist and tugs him out into the alley behind the bar.

It’s not that Clint’s mouth on his is a surprise, exactly. But there’s a difference in logically knowing something is likely to happen and actually facing the reality of its arrival. It’s surprising the way Christmas is surprising, like homecoming after long travel or recovery after weeks of illness.

Sometimes hoping for a thing makes it feel impossible.

But Clint’s mouth is insistent, soft and playful. Confident. He tastes like cheap beer, and his hands curl around Bucky’s hips like they’re staking some kind of claim.

“Goddamn, James,” Clint says, mouthing his way down to Bucky’s neck. “You’re a fucking sniper, huh? Been holding out. You never said.”

Something happens at the word sniper. Bucky’s here, and he’s on a ridge, with a rifle, watching Steve give away his position by saluting right the hell at him. Because of course he did. Because Steve plays soldier, but he hasn’t lost one. Not yet.

“Hey,” Clint says. His lips move against the skin of Bucky’s throat, and Bucky flinches, backpedals straight into the brick wall behind him, and he’s not trapped, not in any danger, but numbers rise up in his throat, a serial number that wants out, and he’s too busy swallowing the whole mess of it back down to tell Clint that it’s okay, that he’s fine, that it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just his useless fucking brain misfiring.

“Hey,” Clint says, again. “Are you--”

His hand curls comfortingly around Bucky’s shoulder, but he’s touching the metal arm. He probably can’t feel the cold of it through the thick fabric of Bucky’s jacket, not the way Bucky can feel it every morning, as the metal leeches warmth from his skin, but Clint’s smart, and observant, and it’s only so long before he figures out there’s something wrong about him.

“I gotta,” Bucky says, accent swerving way too far into Brooklyn. “I need to go,” he says, and that’s not even in English. That’s Russian. He’s so far gone that he’s speaking Russian. To Clint. Jesus.

“Okay,” Clint says, hands up, moving back. “That’s fine, James. I’ll just settle up inside, and then we’ll--”

But Bucky’s going to have to pay him back, because he can’t stay. He can’t. He shifts past him, jarring him with his shoulder because his depth perception’s fucked, and then he’s up the alley and gone.

He doesn’t watch Clint shoot anymore. And when Clint tries to find him, Bucky finds ways to make that difficult until, after a week or so, Clint stops trying.

  HYDRA tracks him down outside of Vilnius, and Bucky isn’t ready for them. He has a knife at his side and a knife at his back, but his guns are in his trailer, in a locked trunk. The children of the circus are nosy, and friendly, and fond of him; he’d wanted to keep the guns as far from them as possible.

“Soldat,” one of them says. His accent is American. He’s only using Russian now to make it clear he knows the words that’ll rewrite Bucky’s brain. “It’s time to come in for recalibration.”

There are times, even now, when Bucky wants that. He isn’t getting better in a linear fashion. It’s a scattershot, a splatter pattern. Somedays he wakes up, and all he wants is a mission. It was easier then.

But he knows what manner of mission they would give him. And beyond that, he remembers the chair. Steve Rogers may have walked willingly into the machine that unmade him, but he only had to do it once. Bucky’s not sure even Steve’s bravery would’ve held out the tenth time, the fiftieth.  

“No,” he says, because he might as well, while he has the chance. While his mouth still belongs to him, he might as well use it.

“Soldat,” the man says, again. And there’s an expression on his face like he’s disappointed, but his eyes are eager, and laughing.

“Gentlemen,” Clint says. He’s beyond the circle of HYDRA agents, fifteen feet back, with his bow in his hands. “Show’s not for another four hours, and he’s not part of it anyway. Time to move on.”

“He’s an old friend,” the leader says. “We’re taking him home.”

“You’re taking him nowhere,” Clint says. Casual, bored, and vaguely annoyed. Like he’s caught someone slipping into the tent without tickets.

“And you’re going to stop us?” the man asks. He’s half-laughing, and it’s well-earned. Clint’s in old sweatpants and a purple hoodie; his hair’s tufted up on one side like he was asleep ten minutes ago. “With your bow and your blunted arrows? I’m not afraid of bruises. Why don’t you--”

The arrow sprouts from his eye like a sapling. Burrows straight through into his skull. He jerks and topples over, dies on the fall down.

“That one was blunted,” Clint says, with that same irritated tone. “The rest aren’t. Got a few that blow up, too. You guys wanna see ‘em?”

There’s a single moment of stillness. The tense bit of pause between realization and reaction. Bucky takes out his knives, and the Winter Soldier goes to work.

  They don’t really speak until after they get a motel room in Bialystok. Clint arranges it, chatting in Polish to the desk clerk. He sounds like a native speaker, and Bucky stands there with his bag on his back and reflects on the fact that Clint’s accent was always a choice.

“Look,” Clint says, once they’re in the room. There’s one bed, but Bucky doesn’t think the plan is to sleep. The plan, probably, is to split up. To create a record of them checking in here and then rabbit off in separate directions. Bucky thinks maybe he’ll backtrack into Lithuania or dash down south to Ukraine, maybe catch a flight and leapfrog anywhere.  

“We are in,” Clint continues, “kind of a complicated situation.”

“Not that complicated,” Bucky says. “You should head west. I’ll go east.”

Clint’s eyebrows snap together. “I blew my cover all to hell for you,” he says. “We’re not splitting up now, Barnes.”

And Bucky never, ever gave Clint that name.

“Hey,” Clint says. “Hey, fuck you, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a threat to you. I’m just not a Goddamn idiot. James Rogers, are you kidding?”

Bucky saw Clint fight. They left seven men dead, and most of those were Clint’s kills. But in close quarters, Bucky’s better. And in every arena, he’s hardier.

“I don’t blame you,” Clint says, which doesn’t make sense. “For fucking off. I did it, too. But if HYDRA can find you, SHIELD can find you. And if either gets close, Tony Stark’s gonna know about it. If Stark knows, Steve knows, and--- just listen. Jesus.”

Bucky can’t help the way he flinches. Steve’s face, bloodied up. Steve, reaching out, because Bucky wears the face of a dead man, and Steve thinks there’s something left to grab onto.

“We have to go back,” Clint says. He sounds tired. He looks tired. “We were always gonna have to. Better to go than be dragged, Barnes.”

“You,” Bucky says, and then stops. Thinks it through. He knows all of Steve’s Avengers, but there was one who went missing after New York. Hawkeye. HYDRA had marked him down as dead; SHIELD had him as MIA, presumed KIA.

He was blonde, and muscular, and deadly with a bow.

“Hawkeye?” he asks. “You’re dead.”

Clint grimaces at the name and then smiles. “Well, look at that,” he says. “Guess it’s prophecy, right? ‘One fine morning in the middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight.’”

Bucky blinks at him. “Is that what we’re gonna do?” Bucky has a bag of weapons on his back, and he doesn’t want to use any of them. He can feel the blood of the dead HYDRA agents on his hands, hot and slippery, damning. “We’re gonna fight?”

Clint shrugs. When he smiles, his mouth is aw-shucks, but his eyes are aw, hell. “Well,” he says. “Not each other, I hope.”

Bucky thinks, of all things, about the feel of Clint’s mouth against his, the warmth of him, the way he used to look over at Bucky like he was something worth earning instead of something he deserved to keep.

It’s only after he realizes he doesn’t want to fight Clint that his brain starts working on how he’d do it, if he had to. It’s been years and years since he prioritized an emotional reaction over a practical one.

“No,” Bucky says. “I don’t want to.”

“Good,” Clint says. “Me either.”

It sounds so easy when Clint says it. Like that’s a choice he thinks they get to make. But Bucky will hurt anyone he’s aimed at.

“I can’t,” he says. “I’m not--- I’ll do whatever they tell me to do. I’m not safe. I don’t always have control. I kill good people.”

Clint’s smile hooks up wide, but it’s the ugliest one Bucky’s seen yet. Cutting like scalpel. Crooked and hateful and sad. “Well, hell, Barnes,” he says, “we’re a pair. It’s like we were made for each other.”

The way Clint says it makes it sound like a sentencing, but it bounces back and forth between Bucky’s ribs like a promise.

He doesn’t know what Clint did. He doesn’t even know everything he’s done himself. But he thinks, if they were made for each other, that’s better than being made for no one at all.

But, still. He has to say it. He can’t let good things happen just because they’re easy. “If I hurt you--”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Clint says, jaw tightening. “It’s never me that gets hurt.”

And Bucky figures that’s not true. But he understands. It’s the same for him. He does get hurt. HYDRA used to hurt him all the time. But he hurt other people worse, so, in the scale of things, what happened to him doesn’t matter. After all, he lived through it.

“HYDRA’s gonna come looking for me,” he says. It’s a warning, the last one he has.

Clint shrugs it aside like it’s nothing. “Good. That’ll make them easy to find.”

“I’m not worth all this,” he says. And that’s not a warning. It’s a confession.

“Me either,” Clint says, with a smile. “Like I said, Barnes. We’re a pair.”

Maybe they are, and maybe they aren’t. Maybe they’re just going to get each other killed. But Bucky has nightmares about Steve, because he’s not ready for Steve to see what he’s become. Clint’s had a good long look at what Bucky is now, and he doesn’t know enough to be disappointed or disgusted.

A pair of killers, a pair of failures. A pair of people who kill people better than themselves.

Bucky doesn’t know what he deserves, after everything he’s done. But Clint, at least, deserves not to be alone.

“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t know how the hell he’d even begin to say no, when Clint’s looking at him like he’s the last chance he’s got. “Okay, yeah,” he says. “We’ll stick together.”

Maybe, this time, they’ll get to stay that way.

[the-bejeesus]

To Those Who Say “I’m not gonna catch up on One Piece until it’s finished. Why would I watch/read 1000+ episodes/chapters when I don’t even get to know how the story ends?”

      Now for the past few years, when I came across somebody who said this, my rebute would be something like “Well the series is great already. It doesn’t really matter if I don’t know how it ends, because the journey itself is enjoyable.” or “Man if that’s your excuse, who you gonna explain why you read/watch stuff like Berserk, Hunter X Hunter, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Hero Academia? Newsflash, they aren’t done yet.” But it came across my mind that I can now apply a completely different approach:

“If you start watching/reading at this pace right now, it will be over by the time you catch up.”

      If you’re a fan of the series, you’ll know that for awhile now Oda has been saying that he plans to end the series in just 5-4 years. Now he’s made lots of claims in the past that turned out to be ridiculous. However, many One Piece researchers have compiled his claims and found out that they only get more accurate as time goes on, with the most ridiculous claims being found to be myths. And with the most recent claims of ending the series in less than 5 years, even his editors who are usually skeptical have started to trust that he can do this. After all, he has officially set there to be only one more saga (which isn’t necessarily one arc, but it’s either going to be 1-2 major arcs or an anthology of 5-6 shorter arcs). And now that we can trust this claim, we can essentially extrapolate how many chapters/episodes are left and what pace we have to binge to catch up at just the right time.

If you plan to read the manga (black and white):

The manga in black in white is a perfectly fine way to enjoy One Piece. It’s what Oda draws, it’s how he intends it to be viewed, and best of all, it will be the first version of publication to finish.

     Out of the 1223 weeks since the first chapter published in July 19, 1997, 1000 chapters have published, meaning on average he publishes 42 chapters per year, or in other words, there are only 10 hiatuses per year (including holidays where WSJ does not publish). Now if I wanted to be more accurate, I’d only look at the chapters published this year, to exclude outliers like how he had no hiatuses for the first 200 chapters, or how he had a 4-week hiatus during the timeskip, but 2020 has been a bit crazy, so we’re not doing that for this or any of the others.

     Going off of this, the final chapter would be chapter 1212 in December 28, 2025 (yes, the 28th would be a Sunday again.) So here’s how you’d calculate the pace in which you need to read One Piece, and really this is how we’ll calculate it for every version)

     Now I know math is boring, but the reason I’m showing this to you is because the amount of weeks until One Piece ends will vary based on when you start this binge. Chances are you aren’t going to start the day you see this post, and there’s an even greater chance you won’t see this post the day it’s posted. For every example I’m going to assume you started binging on December 28, 2020. Now let’s try to use it for this example.

     And there’s your answer, just read 4-5 chapters per week. By the end, One Piece should be nearly over or have very recently ended. To put that into a different perspective, you could purchase and read just two volumes per month and you’ll be at prime pace. Or you could read one chapter every day, but only on weekdays.  If you want to, you can see this calculation in action in graph form.

     While this is a very rudimentary graph, it’s a basic visualization of what we’re calculating here. We’re calculating what speed we need to binge to catch up at exactly the right moment. I say exact, but ultimately no one can predict how many chapters there will be exactly, nor how many hiatuses Oda will go on during it. It will be important, as you’re nearing the end, to find a spoiler-free way to keep up on how close One Piece is to ending. To know whether you ought to speed up or slow down.

If you plan to watch the anime (subtitled):

For years now people have hated on the anime “terrible animation!” “terrible pacing” but at the end of the day, it’s the more popular version. Or the more viewed version I should say. And personally, I think that once you acknowledge its problems and learn how to deal with them, it’s a perfectly fine experience. There’s enough good voice acting and enough good storytelling that you’re easily able to ignore the problems. Plus, the animation has substantially improved since Wano.

      Now for this we’re going to have to change a lot of variables to get this right. We’re going to have to adjust when publication started, and recalculate when One Piece will end by looking at how slowly the anime adapts the manga, and how behind it is. The anime aired on October 20, 1999, and has aired 956 episodes since then. This means on average they air 44.9 episodes per year, meaning there is pretty much only 7 breaks the entire year. With these 956 episodes, they have adapted 955 chapters, making the pace almost exactly one chapter per episode. However this is really inaccurate, considering all the better-paced arcs earlier on in the story. Looking solely at episodes 2012 and onwards, the anime adapts at a pace of 0.65 chapters/episode.

     Knowing that there are roughly 212 chapters left, and Toei adapts at 0.65 chapters per episode, we can assume that there are going to be roughly 324 episodes left. That sounds like too many, but keep in mind that there will be several, several instances where the manga will be on hiatus whereas the anime will keep on airing. Knowing there are approximately 324 episodes left, and that the anime only takes about 7 breaks a year, we can assume that it will take 7 years, or 374.49 weeks before the anime will end. So now we have the information we need to do the math again.

x = 1280/374.49

x = 3.417 episodes/week.

     It may seem like a more relaxed binge, since you get a whole 2 extra years to binge, and you only have to do 3-4 episodes per week, compared to the 4-5 chapters. But keep in mind that these episodes are 24 minutes each. Still not at all bad, but you will be spending more time on it overall.

If you plan to watch One Pace:

One Pace is a fan project that edits the anime so that filler and padding is cut, other edits will be made to make the anime more manga-accurate, such as reorganizing scenes, or adding title cards where absent. Originally only used by a niche number of One Piece fans, One Pace has grown in popularity, and has tried to improve its quality to accommodate more fans, such as making their episodes Dual Audio (meaning you can switch between the dub and original Japanese audio tracks), and including Spanish subtitles.

      You’d think we’d have to adjust for when One Pace began, how slowly One Pace catches up, and the works, but there’s not much to calculate. Fortunately for us, no matter how far behind One Pace is on editing the current arc, they always like to wrap things up just a few weeks within when an arc ended, if not the very same week. So really all we have to calculate is how many One Pace episodes there will be by the end of all this, so that we know how many you’ll need to watch per week.

      Looking solely at what they’ve covered so far, One Pace has taken 573 episodes and condensed it down to 259 episodes. That’s a pace of 2.21 anime episodes/ paced episode. Earlier we calculated that there would be 324 episodes of the anime left, making for 1280 episodes total. This would mean that there would be around 578 One Pace episodes by the end. And One Pace would probably wrap up in, let’s say 376 weeks, because as I said, they’ll probably finish editing the final arc a week or two after the last episode airs.

x = 578/376

x = 1.53 episodes per week

      Now that’s a relaxed pace. 1-2 episodes per week? That’s so slow, I’m not even sure if I’ll remember what I watched last week next time I watch some episodes. The only problem is some of the pre-timeskip still haven’t been edited. They’ll probably be done by the time they finish the final arc, but that’s not gonna work out fast enough. You’ll hit your first roadblock about 7 weeks in when you need to watch the Baratie arc and it’s not done. And don’t even get me started on how many arcs aren’t done in dub or Spanish sub yet. Hopefully you could just switch to the anime or manga when you hit these arcs, readjusting how many episodes/chapters you need to watch/read when you do. But that’s a bit of an excessive amount of math for something that’s supposed to be fun. So yeah, if you’re still convinced you shouldn’t get into One Piece until it’s ended, maybe this is the option for you.

If you plan to read the manga (Colored):

Since 2012, Shueisha has made a colorization of One Piece. It’s not a fan coloring, it’s as official as it gets. Many consider the color schemes portrayed in this version as the most canon, as the majority are pulled straight from whatever colored illustrations of Oda’s they can find. And quite frankly it makes the manga at least 10 times more beautiful. It’s especially great if you have trouble interpreting dense, small black and white panels.

      This one is a doozy. You’d think all I gotta do is calculate how far behind the colored manga usually and just adjust from there, right? Wrong. Because how far behind the colored manga is, or how frequently they release volumes in full color, is one of the most inconsistent things I have ever seen. You wanna see what I’m talking about? This is how they’ve chosen to release each volume since 2012:

Volume 1-12: July 15, 2012

Volume 13-23: September 28, 2012

Volume 24-63: December 4, 2012

Volume 64-65: April 4, 2013

Volume 66-68: December 20, 2013

Volume 69-70: August 25, 2014

Volume 71-72: September 16, 2015

Volume 73-75: October 4, 2016

Volume 76: December 2, 2016

Volume 77: March 3, 2017

Volume 78: July 2, 2017

Volume 79: September 4, 2017

Volume 80: December 4, 2017

Volume 81-82: March 3, 2018

Volume 83: October 4, 2018

Volume 84-86: August 2, 2019

Volume 87-92: September 16, 2020

     How I am supposed to find out how long it will take for Shueisha to colorize the final volume of One Piece is beyond me. I guess the first step would be to look at how far behind the manga each release was on average, but I’m going to ignore all the ones before 2013, because those were clearly just Shueisha catching up really fast cause they just started and didn’t want to be dozens of volumes behind forever. So of the 14 publications between 2013 and now, on average the last chapter of the last volume they colored was 97.78 weeks after that chapter had published in Weekly Shonen Jump. This means that if the final chapter of One Piece is chapter 1212 on December 28, 2025, then you can expect the final colored volume to publish November 14, 2027.

x = 1212/359

x = 3.37 chapters/week

     So if you prefer the manga but don’t want to read 5 chapters every week for 5 years, this might be a better option for ya. But yea, I have no doubt my prediction is at least a little off for this one.

If you plan to watch the anime (dubbed):

Unlike the 4KidsTV and Odex dubs of One Piece, the FUNimation dub is a perfect way to enjoy One Piece. The DVDs come with enjoyable commentary and a marathon mode, great for binging.

       FUNimation’s releases of the dub are inconsistent, although not nearly as erratic as the colored manga release. However, there was recently a 2-year hiatus we only just got out of. Since Episode 1′s dub in May 27, 2008, the dub has gotten as far as Episode 614. But that’s only looking at the DVD releases. If you’re willing to stream on FUNimationnow, the dub is as far as 641, and if you’re willing to digitally purchase it from an e-shop such as the Microsoft store, it goes all the way to Episode 654. With that being said, that would mean that on average, FUNimation dubs 1.004 episodes per week. Although if we go back to before the two-year hiatus so as to exclude it from the average, it’s actually 1.10 episodes per week. Not a huge difference, actually. And then if we look solely after the two-year hiatus, it’s actually 2.25 episodes per week, which is insanely faster. It’s hard to tell what the future of the dub will be. I can’t assume they’ll go this fast forever, so I’m just going to take the average of all 3 and say it’s 1.45 episodes per week. Don’t know if that’s the best mathematical approach, but the number seems about right.

     So knowing that the dub is at Episode 654 and looking at our previous guesstimation that the anime will be 1280 episodes long, we can predict that it will take 431 weeks before the dub catches up and ends. That would be in 2029! Sounds quick at first until you notice it’s 4 years behind!

x = 1280/431

x = 2.96 episodes per week

      Looks like it’s almost exactly 3 episodes per week. Not as much less of a workload as I expected, compared to catching up to the sub. You know, I figured those 4 extra years would make you binge a lot slower.

Final Thoughts:

      There’s a lot of my math that was estimation, approximations, extrapolations. Feel free to correct me or fact check me, especially if you plan on using this. I figured this would be a fun thought excercise. There’s also a lot of smaller variables I simply didn’t want to take into account because of how long this is already. For example, reading the black and white manga. The calculation can vary slightly depending on if you read it the day it’s published (which I assume would have to be a fanscan unless you can read Japanese), reading the weekly publication legally on Viz.com, waiting for the physical volume release. The dub can also vary depending on whether you buy from Microsoft, wait for the FUNimationnow release, wait for the DVDs, or wait for the Collection sets. So feel free to take this into account.

[kristallioness]

The candy thief

Summary: Kya goes to search for some healing candy.

Word count: 3,218

Author's note: Honestly, I came up with this idea BEFORE I fell ill this past Thursday. *angry muttering* Long story short, my dad caught a nasty cold about 2 weeks ago and apparently, now I finally have it, too (so does my mom, which makes sense since we're all cooped up together at home, as most people are nowadays). Luckily it started off with only a mildly sore throat this time (that's pretty rare in my case) and the rest of the symptoms were barely noticeable, so I'm fine with that (and as of this Tuesday, I already feel quite normal again, which is good since I gotta be healthy if I wanna get my flu shot next Friday). At least I had a personal point of reference while writing the story (not that I intended to have one *lol*)... Anyways, I remember when I was a little girl, then sometimes I didn't dare to admit that my throat was sore, or I really hoped that it'd go away if I waited long enough. Instead, I chose to suffer for at least half a day (before the pain became unbearable or I realized that it isn't going anywhere), cause I was afraid that my mom would start lecturing me that I wasn't careful enough when I caught that cold in the first place (she did anyway, but just a little bit, and after that she of course did everything to help me feel better). So, I kind of took that idea and self-inserted my silly child version into Kya's character, to show how she'd try to keep it secret for as long as she could by sneaking past her mommy to find some medicine on her own. Which, knowing Katara, is practically a "mission impossible".

----------x----------

Telling mommy was the last thing on Kya's mind. The 3-year-old reluctantly swallowed another mouthful of warm jook, lifting up the next bite with her spoon as she still had the other half of the plate to finish.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Aren't you hungry?"

Kya shook her head and quickly took a bite to not arouse suspicion. Katara eyed her for a second longer, then shrugged her shoulders and continued drying the rest of the dishes.

The poor little waterbender had no idea how much longer she could possibly tolerate this pain. Ever since she woke up, her throat had been killing her. Last night, it started off as a weird scratchy feeling on one side, which didn't really seem that bad when her mother tucked her in bed. But by the time morning arrived, it had spread all across the back of her throat.

"You seem kind of quiet this morning. Is everything okay?" Katara wondered, running the towel over the ladle she'd used to cook breakfast for herself and her baby girl.

"Mhmm," Kya hummed and nodded with her mouth full. She wished that she could enjoy this delicious food more without having to think and prepare herself for the burning sensation each time she swallowed it. Jook was one of her favourite dishes, but it certainly didn't taste as pleasant as usual right now. She'd had enough of this torture.

Kya grabbed her half empty plate from the kitchen table and hopped off the high chair to walk over to her mother and hand the dirty dishes to her. Katara smiled and squatted down as she saw her baby girl approach her, taking the plate off her hands.

"Can I go play?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, sweetie. You can go ahead and play in your room now."

After receiving a tender kiss on her forehead, Kya hurried out of the kitchen. But instead of scampering back to her bedroom, she tried to be stealthy and reach the infirmary without her mother, or anyone else seeing.

Kya knew very well what would happen if she told mommy the truth: first, mommy would become angry and she'd get berated for not taking care of herself better. Then, she'd get dragged to the healing hut inside their temple and her mommy would poke her with these scary instruments to find out what's wrong. And finally, she'd have to drink some sort of bitter tea or take some other kind of nasty medicine for a couple of days before she started to feel better.

Coming clean was surely out of the question. There had to be another way she could both hide, yet relieve her suffering. So she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Kya managed to sneak into the infirmary room unnoticed. She gave the hallway one last glance to be certain she wasn't followed, after which she made her way to the cupboards at the back of the room.

The healing hut, as her mother liked to call it, was a spacious room no bigger than the dining hall used by the residents of their little island. She passed several empty beds, which were covered with indigo blankets that had pretty flower patterns on them, and white pillows for resting your weary head on. These beds were meant for mommy's patients - be it a member of their own family, one of the air acolytes, or sick strangers who desperately needed mommy's help from time to time. Kya never liked having to sit on or rest in any of them.

As she reached the other end of the room, she paused for a minute to think. There were two cupboards on the floor and three cabinets hanging up on the wall. They all looked the same with their delicate wooden carvings, but they contained various items that mommy usually used to help sick people feel better. Now came the hard part: where to find the right medicine?

Kya knew what she was looking for. The last couple of times she'd suffered from a sore throat, Katara had given her some special lemon-flavoured candies to suck on, which helped soothe the pain until it disappeared a day or two later. If she could get her hands on them, she might be able to make it through without having to tell her mother.

The little waterbender opened the squeaky doors of the first cupboard and had a peek inside. She didn't have any luck on her first try. The shelves were full of materials for wrapping up sprains or bandaging wounds, along with a couple of clean towels and a few tins that contained stinky salves.

It was the same with the other cupboard right next to it. Nothing resembled those candies Kya remembered eating the last time she was sick. She had no other choice but to get a closer look at the cabinets high up on the wall. The problem was how was she ever going to reach them?

For a little girl like her, it was supposed to be impossible. Katara had stored all the vitamins, pills and pointy medical instruments up there, so her kids wouldn't get their hands on them and harm themselves by accident.

Kya climbed up on the nearest bed to have a better view of what's in there. But she was still too far away to open the cabinet doors on her own. Was there anything she could use as an extension of her arms? Maybe she could make a lasso out of the towels or an elastic bandage and toss it around the handle?

Instead, she noticed the two big pots filled with bending water in the corners of the room. Mommy would normally use that water for healing purposes, but it gave her an idea.

The little waterbender knitted her brows, summoning an uneven stream of water from one of them. She couldn't control the element exactly the way she wanted it to behave, but if she could just get it around the door handle..

And then there was a loud bang. The 3-year-old startled and lost complete control over the water, which splashed down on the cupboard below, leaving a small puddle in front of it on the floor.

She'd nearly managed to pull the cabinet door wide open when she lost her waterbending grip and gravity did its job, thus causing it to fall back shut. Her mother's tactic justified itself. It was a miracle if she didn't hear the noise.

Kya climbed back down from the bed to go clean up the mess. Using her clumsy waterbending, she attempted to place the water back into the pot. The blobs she carried between her hands dripped from beneath, leaving a trail of wet spots on the floor.

"What are you doing there?"

The next blob fell down on her booties and soaked them. She'd left one important variable out of the equation - her daddy returning from his morning meditation outside in the pavilion. She stood completely still, having been caught red-handed. Or wet-handed was more like it.

"Nothing," she uttered, guilt written over her face. Aang stepped inside the infirmary, surprised to see his baby girl in there in the first place. She avoided this place like fire.

"It sure doesn't look like nothing. What happened? Why's there water on the furniture?"

Kya hung her head in shame as her daddy squatted down in front of her, laying a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, I'm not mad. I just wanna know what happened. Were you practicing your waterbending?"

She shook her head in response.

"No? Then what were you doing in here?"

Kya stared up at the row of cabinets hanging from the wall, taunting her for her small height and inability to fend for herself. She pointed her finger at the one she'd tried to open earlier.

"I wanted healing candy," she said, sparking a bit of confusion in her father. She didn't know any fancier words that'd describe the medicinal sweets she was after.

"You wanted what?"

"Healing candy," she repeated one more time, watching how daddy waterbended her shoes dry so her feet wouldn't get cold. Not that it mattered anymore since she already had a cold.

"Don't tell mommy," the 3-year-old pleaded. Now Aang felt even more confused.

"Why not? I'll help you clean up here and tell mommy it was an accident. It's no big deal."

To demonstrate, he waterbended the top of the cupboard dry with one simple flick of his wrist. He moved on to cleaning up the wet tracks on the floor.

"Mommy's gonna be angry."

Her reasoning made the airbender chuckle since there'd barely be a trace of the mishap left by the time he finished.

"What? Why would mommy be angry at you?"

"Cause my throat hurts."

Aang had to pause for a second as everything began to fall into place. He dropped the dirty water into the sink and turned to face his daughter.

"Oh, you poor thing.." he murmured, running his fingers through her hair to console her.

"Now I get it. You wanted some of those special candies that mommy has that can soothe your sore throat, right? But you couldn't reach the cabinet, so you tried to open it with your waterbending."

"Mhmm," the little waterbender agreed with a nod. Aang pondered for a minute before he proposed a plan that wouldn't frighten her any more than she already was for going behind their backs and lying about her condition.

"Tell you what, I promise I won't tell mommy about your sore throat. But I need to go ask her where she keeps those special candies so I can give you some. Okay?"

Kya wasn't too happy about that last part, cause then her mommy would figure it out. But it was the only way she could get her hands on the right medicine if daddy didn't know where to look for it either.

"Is there anything else I can get you? Your mini Appa, perhaps?"

"No. I want candy," she said, determined to get rid of the constant burning sensation. She didn't care whether mommy would be mad at her or not anymore. She just wanted the pain to go away.

"Alright. Be a good girl and wait right here. I'll be back in a minute."

Aang patted her head before standing up and leaving the room to go search for Katara.

In the meantime, Kya perched on the edge of the bed opposite to the cupboards to give her feet a rest. She swung them back and forth, patiently waiting for her daddy to return. Mentally, she was preparing herself for the lecture her mother was bound to give her on being more careful when it concerned her health.

She pricked up her ears, but couldn't hear her parents talking in any of the rooms nearby. Her curiosity got the better of her after a minute or two had already passed, so she went to peek into the empty hallway. Once she saw her mommy stepping out of the kitchen, she quickly hurried back to the bed where she was told to stay.

"I'll show you where it is, so the next time you need it, you'll know where to look," Kya heard her mother speak. It wasn't long until she entered the healing hut, followed shortly by her daddy.

But to her surprise, mommy looked happy rather than angry. She headed straight for the middle cabinet and opened the door on the left side. Katara didn't even seem to notice that she was sitting there on the bed behind them.

"It's right here on the lower shelf, next to the bottle of vitamins."

She picked up the correct box of lozenges and put it on the cupboard for her husband to see.

"Alright, I'll definitely remember it now. Thanks!"

He gifted her with a tiny peck on the cheek. The little waterbender already felt that she was off the hook. While her parents were distracted by their show of affection, she'd hopped off the bed and squeezed herself between their bodies to reach for the medicine on the counter. But it was too far away, and then her mother came down to her level to talk.

"Kya, do you wanna tell me what's going on? Why's daddy looking for these healing candies?"

All of a sudden, she felt cornered again. Maybe mommy wasn't as clueless as she'd hoped. Kya stared up into her daddy's grey eyes in search of answers, unsure about what she should do. Luckily, Aang helped her out.

"Do you want me to tell mommy?"

Her mouth fell a bit agape. It wasn't until then that she realized that daddy had kept his promise. He hadn't mentioned a word to mommy about her being the reason why he wanted to know the location of the candies.

Ultimately, Kya decided it'd be better if he took the blame. She nodded. And that was all Aang needed to hear, or see.

"She has a sore throat," he confessed, squatting down to her and Katara's level, pulling their baby girl into his protective embrace by resting an arm around her shoulders.

Kya looked away, expecting her mother to raise her voice at her. Instead, she felt her mother's warm hand cupping her cheek and gently lifting her chin up so she could look her in the eye. She was frowning.

"Oh, sweetie.. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

When she remained silent, Aang chimed in.

"She was scared that you'll get angry at her for falling ill."

"Is this true, baby?"

The little waterbender fiddled with her fingers for a bit, then gazed into her mother's blue eyes and nodded shyly. Katara released a heavy sigh, as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I never mean to get mad at you. It's just that.. I'm worried about you when you don't feel well. And when I'm worried, sometimes I might overreact a bit."

"A bit?" Aang laughed, but shushed up when Katara glared at him. She continued brushing her fingers through their daughter's hair to soothe her.

"The point is.. Next time you feel sick, you don't have to be afraid to tell me, okay? We all get sick every now and again. The important thing is to start the right treatment as soon as possible, because then you'll feel better a lot quicker. Do you understand that?"

Kya didn't comprehend everything what her mother said, but she did understand that her mommy felt sorry, and that it's okay to approach her the next time she felt under the weather.

"Come here."

Katara spread her arms and invited her baby in for a hug.

"Now, will you be a brave little waterbender and let mommy have a look at your throat?" she whispered into Kya's ear, to which she broke free from the hug and ran back between her daddy's legs, hiding her head under his shawl. Aang started laughing again.

"Looks like she's still scared."

Even Katara found the situation to be funny. She giggled as she stood up and opened the other side of the cabinet where she'd gotten the lozenges.

"Kya, I'm not going to hurt you," she reassured the little waterbender, who turned around to peep at what she was doing from under her red hood. Her mother placed a glass tube on the counter, next to the box of candies she wanted.

"I only wanna look into your mouth to see if your throat is red," Katara claimed as she knelt back down and shifted closer to her. Aang urged Kya to come out of hiding and take a step closer to her mommy so she could examine her.

"Can you open wide and show me your tongue, like this?"

Katara demonstrated for her by sticking out her own tongue, hoping that Kya would mimic her. Once she did, she pressed her tongue down with a wooden stick to see the back of her throat. It did seem a tad red, but there was nothing that would indicate a serious infection.

"Good girl," Katara praised.

"Say 'Aahh'!"

"Aahh!" Kya repeated obediently, allowing her mother to pull the stick out of her mouth. Next, she threw it away in the trash bin and gently pressed her fingertips below her jaw on either side of her neck.

"Don't worry, I'm just gonna feel your neck for a bit to see if it's swollen," Katara explained while palpating the lymph nodes in that area. She tickled her chin in the end, earning a short giggle from her baby girl. It was high time she rewarded her for her good behaviour.

"Alright, I think you've been through enough."

She reached for the box of lozenges, pulled it open and pushed one out from the blister pack.

"Here you go, sweetie. Suck on this and your throat will feel a little better for a while."

Kya took the yellow piece of candy from her mother's palm and shoved it in her mouth. After she'd swallowed a couple of times, the dissolving medicine slowly began to do its job.

"Thank you, mommy!"

The elder waterbender grinned and gifted her with another tender kiss on her temple.

"You're welcome, baby. Do you mind if I take your temperature while you suck on your healing candy? I wanna be sure you don't have a fever."

Since the little waterbender showed no signs of protest, her parents escorted her to the nearest bed. Aang sat down next to her for moral support, watching how she happily sucked on the lozenge while his wife tried to measure her temperature.

Katara grabbed the thermometer and squatted down in front of Kya. Using her motherly, but caring tone, she explained in rather great detail why she's tucking it under her arm. It was a sight that made the airbender's heart flutter with joy - a healer doing what she does best.

"Aang, could you apply some pressure here to make sure it's in contact with her skin and doesn't slip anywhere?"

"Sure."

He held his hand against Kya's upper arm to keep the thermometer in place for a few minutes. She no longer seemed to mind them prodding her in any way. She had what she'd wanted: sweet relief, literally.

Katara stroked their daughter's rosy cheek with the back of her hand to pass the time. She wore a loving smile, but her brows were furrowed in concern. She was thinking of a way to remind her baby girl why it was essential for her to know when she's sick.

"Sweetie.. I wanna help you feel better, but I can only do that if you tell me what's wrong. Will you promise me that from now on, when you don't feel well, you'll let mommy know right away?"

"Okay, mommy."

Katara let out a content hum at that. She scooted closer and pressed one last kiss on the little waterbender's forehead.

"Good girl. And in turn, I promise I'll try not to overreact so much."

She pulled the thermometer out from under her tunic and had a look at the silver line of mercury inside the glass. Her smile grew wider, she had no fever.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Earnest

Steve Harrington x Reader

Catch up on the series HERE

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Swearing, death illusion

Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like, but I promise that the next one is longer! Also, some of the tags aren’t working for some users, so I’m so sorry if you aren’t getting notifications for this series! If you know how to fix this lemme know!

Tags: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​  @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @banjino-in-the-whole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unussuallchild10 @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​

Steve was so very fucked. He’d been sat at his desk since he got home from school and could not think of a single fucking thing to write. He’d had his notebook open, his typewriter loaded with paper, pen uncapped and waiting to be used, and the most work he’d done was chew on its blue cap. He just couldn’t think.

Writing was not his thing. Reading was not his thing. School was not his thing. He had lines of trophies on his nearly empty shelf-swim meet, track and field, basketball, and baseball for one summer in fifth grade. He could understand how to play a sport. That was competitive, improvisational, and had a core outcome-you won, lost, or tied. The same three outcomes with a million ways to do it, a million variables to get in the way. Math and science were the same, he could swing Cs and Bs in those classes, but English was the opposite. There were too many opinions. Too many options. When he managed to read one of the assigned books for class and not merely the Cliff’s Notes, he found he had nothing to say about it. Everything the author said felt true, even when his teachers were telling him to look for specific things in the narrative. Sure, if someone told him that the conch shell in Lord of the Flies meant something, but if you asked him what he wouldn’t know. And he would believe you if you said that the conch shell didn’t mean anything. His essays were all crap.

He thought about calling Nancy. Nancy would know exactly how to help him, she always did. But Nancy was with Jonathan now and he wasn’t confident that they were still friends at all. If they were ever friends. He didn’t think that they were. They weren’t really friends before they dated. Still, his hand hovered over the egg shell white rotary phone on his desk, a gift from his eleventh birthday. He lifted the phone off its hook, dialling the number off by heart. It took three rings for someone to pick up.

“Eleven?” Mike Wheeler’s frantic voice came through the other end. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the boy was far too attached to that girl, it was honestly concerning.

“Nah dude it’s Steve, your sister around?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s out with Jonathan.” Mike’s voice dropped into one of boredom. “You know, her boyfriend?” he was such a little shit sometimes.

“Yeah, I know dipshit, you wanna tell her I called when she gets back?” Steve huffed back.

“If I remember.” With that, the call went dead. Steve groaned, rolling his eyes as he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. What a fucking waste of time. He’d never hear back now, that kid didn’t like him from the start and would do whatever he could to keep them from being friends.

What was to be done now? He didn’t have anything to say about his spring break! Mr. Lawrence was a bastard for even asking him to write about it. Nothing happened! His parents went to Miami Beach to rekindle their marriage for the hundredth time and left Steve at home alone. He tried to throw a party but almost got busted by the cops with a fake ID at the Pick n’ Save and Tommy’s brother wouldn’t give them any weed to supplement what would’ve been a pretty dry party. He cancelled the party after that and sat at home alone. Nothing much to tell about and definitely wouldn’t fill a page, even if he used the longest words he knew.

Steve stood from his desk, looking through his shelf till he found the heavy yellow pages he’d put on the bottom of his shelf to weigh the sucker down so it wouldn’t fall over as fast. He flipped it open, searching through the numbers till he found what he was looking for, lifting the receiver off its hook again.

Across the street, you were sprawled out on your rose printed bedspread, your head in your hands with Samantha sat on your desk chair, laughing at your pain. “You know it’s not that bad, right? You could’ve gotten stuck with someone way worse.” She said, mindlessly digging through the black jewellery box sat dusty in the corner of your desk. Your mother had sent it from Spain and had filled it with different things she found across Europe. You didn’t care much for the stuff yourself but you kept it on your desk to show that you used it, not that she was ever home to seemed to notice.

Your bedroom was clean and stark white. It used to be pink, to match the rest of your white iron rod and pink padded furniture. You didn’t like the pink that much, and you didn’t adore the white, but you could hide it behind the art you tacked to the wall. Every portrait, still life, and landscape painting you’d been proud of hung proudly in your home gallery. You’d done recreations of your favourite album covers, and splatter art with balloons, and a few charcoal drawings of your grandparents and your father. You’d painted clouds and stars on your ceiling when you were in middle school, and while they had a lot of room for improvement, you left them above your head as a comfort to you. Your father had helped you scrape the popcorn ceiling down flat and helped paint the ceiling sky blue. It was your last project together.

“Oh yeah totally…” you said through your hands, refusing to look at her, focusing instead on the yellow sun spots floating under your eyelids.

“I mean, you could’ve gotten stuck with Tracy Lords again, she’s in that class.” Samantha replied easily, pulling out a green sea glass bangle from the top drawer, running her fingers over the red velvet interior of the box. Tracy Lords was a menace to productivity, at least she was according to Samantha. They had issues, which meant that you did too by association, but she’d done nothing to you except glare and pop her gum at you.

“At least she does her work!” you sat up, letting your feet dangle over your bed. “I don’t think he’s ever done his work on time, he’s always late with stuff!”

“That’s not your problem; as long as you do your work then Lawrence won’t care.” She flashed the bangle in front of your face “You should wear this more it’s nice.”

You shrugged “You can have it if you want.” You didn’t really care about what your mother sent you, it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t care enough about you to be home for more than a month out of the year. Besides, where on earth were you supposed to wear any of it? Your mother loved to spend your father’s riches on random, useless crap and you hated the idea of showing off the money your father died for. It wasn’t anything to brag about.

“Nah, not my style, it won’t match any of my stuff.” She put the bracelet back, closing the box with a metallic thump. “But anyway, you’ll be fine. Steve’s completely harmless.” You weren’t exactly sure if you believed her.

The phone on your desk blared loudly. You begrudgingly jumped off the bed, pulling it off the hook. Your grandmother was still at the hair salon and if you didn’t answer, one of her little friends from the old folk’s home might think that she died again.

“Hello?” you asked, motioning for Samantha to move over a bit, closing your white curtains closed again, your eyes scanning the streets with a bored expression.

“Hey is this Y/N?” Steve asked cautiously. He couldn’t quite remember your voice but he had double checked your last name in the year book and the phone book.

“Yeah, who is this?” dread filled your stomach the second he spoke, you were hoping against hope that it wasn’t Steve. You could see him pacing his window from across the street.

“Hey it’s Steve from English?” Fucking hell. You wanted to slam the damn receiver onto its hook. But if you did that, Samantha would think that you were crazy and you didn’t want to seem like such a baby.

“Oh hey what’s up?” you asked cautiously. Samantha was pulling at your sleeve, mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at you. You pulled your arm away, pushing her chair away from you with your foot.

“Oh nothing much, I was just wondering how your paper’s going?” Steve didn’t really know why he called you, he wasn’t certain that you’d even help him if he asked. He hardly knew you, he couldn’t name two things about you. But you seemed smart, you could be of some help if he had the balls to ask for it.

“Oh um…it’s fine. How’s yours going?” your hand came to the back of your neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You wanted to run away, to utterly disappear into another dimension. You didn’t like strangers, especially the whole small talk part. You didn’t feel like you had anything interesting to say about yourself and you hated silence. Your mind just didn’t come up with questions to ask.

Steve’s face burned. He couldn’t admit that he was stupid now; he was hoping that he wasn’t the only idiot in the class. “Oh um it’s good! I’m almost done.” He said, mentally cursing himself for saying that he was anywhere near finished.

“Oh cool. Do-do you want to switch them off tomorrow?” Now you had no idea what this phone call was even about. In the back of your mind, you assumed that he just had a question about the essay, but now you had nothing to grab onto.

“Yeah sure, that works for me.” He said, looking to his empty paper.  He was so totally screwed now. He couldn’t admit that he was an idiot to you, not when you already had everything so clearly understood. You spoke so confidently, it made him feel small and pointless.

“Okay…I’ll see you in class then.” You said. Steve bid an awkward goodbye and you both hung up unsure what the hell had just happened.

Samantha was on her feet, jumping on your mattress “Did Steve Harrington just call you?!?” she cried, following it was it a giddy scream. You hushed her, rolling your eyes.

“It’s nothing to freak out about, you weirdo!” you countered, turning to face her fully with a sullen expression. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, adrenalin pumping through your veins.

Samantha landed on her knees, looking up at you incredulously “What? He’s cool! That’s cool! Boys never call you!”

“Way to rub that one in.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Talking to people wasn’t your strong suit, and while for the most part you were okay with not having many friends, you lack of experience with relationships made you very insecure. “You crushed one of your spikes on my ceiling.”

Samantha reached up and touched each individual black spike with the tips of her finger, finding the dented one at the top of her head. “It’s true! God, I’ve got more guys calling me and I’m a lesbian.” She lowered her voice at the mention of her sexuality. You both knew that your grandparents wouldn’t be kind to her if they knew, their homophobia a mark of their small mindedness.

“Yeah, well, the guys at this school are all idiots.” You looked back to your paper, pulling your red pen out from behind your ear and crossing out a word on your essay.

“You didn’t think Jonathan Byers was an idiot.” Samantha replied. You cheeks flashed cherry red. It wasn’t fair of her to even mention him. He was a dickhead and Samantha knew it.

“Yeah, well now I know that he’s just as big of an idiot as everyone else is.” You muttered, pulling your desk chair over and taking a seat once again.  You didn’t have the time for stupid boys, anyways. You had work to do.

[ahkaraii]

Make your own numbers (Jeralt & Byleth centric, 4660 words)

cw: autistic-spectrum/neurodivergent mc, afab!nb!byleth, ableist language, child abuse, alcohol abuse

and spoilers for jeralt’s background, i guess :v it’s written in his pov

---

"Jeralt. What is probability?"

"Uh." The sorts of questions that came from the mouth of babes! "It's like flipping a coin."

"Like flipping a coin."

"Right." Jeralt alcohol-addled fingers searched his pockets and produced one. "If I throw this in the air, what's the chance it'll land on the head of Seiros?"

Byleth stared at the coin intently.

"It's fifty," Jeralt answered. "Fifty percent."

"Fifty percent," Byleth echoed.

One of Jeralt's men laughed. "Does the kid even know math?"

"Yeah, she's like what? Five?"

"Uh. Maybe?" Jeralt wasn't very good at keeping track of the passage of time. "Whatever. Do you know what a percent is, Byleth?"

The kid looked up at him solemnly. Some would say emptily, but Jeralt knew there was substance between Byleth's ears, even if their eyes were mostly dull.

"If two souls in a squad of ten men got injured in a fight, what percent of the whole got injured?"

Contemplative silence.

"You can count with your fingers, if you like," Jeralt offered. He raised two of his ten fingers. "How much is this?"

"Two," Byleth said.

"Right." Jeralt's fingers wiggled. "Two fingers out of ten. How much percent is that?"

"Two," Byleth said again.

"Nope," Jeralt shook his head. "Try again."

"Saints' sake, it's twenty!" interrupted one of his archers. "It's twenty percent."

"Hey!" Jeralt barked. "You! Shut up. Let the child figure it out."

A small crease developed between Byleth's eyes. "Twenty," the kid echoed.

Jeralt nodded. "Okay. Let's make it easier. Say the whole squad got wiped out. Total slaughter. All ten of them died. How much of a percentage is that?"

Byleth frowned, and said nothing.

Saints, maybe the guys were right. Had he taught the kid math yet? Shit. When had Jeralt learned about numbers when he was young? It had been so long ago. Hadn't he learned it just by existing long enough to pick it up?

"It's a hundred percent," Jeralt said with a sigh, when the silence stretched into something more awkward.

"A hundred percent," Byleth repeated monotonously.

Jeralt raised his tankard and drank. Maybe Byleth really was dumb. Jeralt may be old, but he wasn't deaf. He could hear his men talking about Byleth just fine. The kid that wouldn't laugh. The kid that wouldn't cry, even if you tried to scare them. Jeralt was no stranger to dumb humans. You get hit in the head enough over the years, and even the smartest man got slow. He just hadn't ever expected his own kid to be slow from the outset.

"Hey, kid," a spearman said. "Don't feel bad. Boss is one hell of a tactician, but he's no good at talking to babies. Think of it this way: everything is made of a hundred parts. Even coin sides." He produced a coin, and flashed the crest of Fodlan. "Tails, fifty," turned it around, "Heads, fifty."

"You're gonna confuse her even more," cackled a swordsman.

Byleth outstretched a hand, accepting the coin. It engulfed nearly their whole palm. "Tails, fifty," Byleth echoed, and turned it. "Heads, fifty."

"Right!" the spearman clapped Byleth's shoulder companionably. "Good girl."

Byleth's little hands flashed -- "Motherfucker!" the spearman yelped, clutching his hand, index finger bent at a very odd angle.

"Ten percent broken," Byleth said.

Jeralt howled with laughter. Even if he had to crack the spearman's skull open moments after because he'd attacked Byleth for the injury, it was still worth it just to know Byleth had inherited his wife's shitty sense of humour.

--

Jeralt noticed Byleth flipping the coin a lot, afterward. Their fingers were clumsy with it, but every throw got a little smoother. They'd try it while walking, while eating, and Jeralt even spotted Byleth doing it while squatting over the shithole. It was an innocuous hobby, if a little annoying with its repetitiveness, so Jeralt didn't think much of it. Byleth had a habit of repeating new words or phrases for a while after learning them, so it stood to reason they'd practice with this now, too.

"Hey, kid," a staff-wielder approached Byleth at one point. "You sure like that coin, huh?"

Byleth wasn't very good at meeting people's eyes, but Jeralt could tell they were paying attention by the way they drew the coin a little closer to their chest.

"I ain't gonna take it from you," the mage said. "Yet. Wanna bet for it?"

"Bet for it?"

"Yeah, with dice." The mage produced a pair from his sleeves. "I roll an even number, it's mine. An odd number, you can keep it. Got it?"

"An odd number," Byleth muttered. "Six. Twelve...Fifty."

"What? No, those are even numbers. Odds are stuff like one, and three, and five. You can count, can't ya?"

Byleth stared at the dice. "Six," they insisted. "Fifty."

"Saints, you are a retard." The man jiggled the dice in his hand, and Byleth's eyes followed them attentively. "Look, if you like evens so much, then if this die lands on evens, it's yours. Yeah?"

Byleth paused, and then nodded.

Jeralt wasn't a very attentive parent, if he were to be frankly honest. He lost track of Byleth sometimes like he lost track of time, a victim to an old man's attention span. Jeralt's own da hadn't given a whit to his upbringing, and it was both sheer happenstance and Seiros' blood that had kept Jeralt alive till today. His moral compass was a little more skewed for the same reasons. Still, all that didn't mean he didn't care about Byleth. Jeralt was just more of the school of thought that living in this world would teach you how to survive in it.

(The problem was you'd die if you were too dumb to understand the lessons it was trying to beat into your head.)

A single die glimmered in midair. Byleth's eyes followed it, entranced. It rolled momentarily, and stopped on, "Three! What are the odds, eh?" The mage's smile was oily.

"Fifty," Byleth said, and dutifully handed the coin over. They didn't look melancholy, exactly, but their posture was a little more stiff than usual.

"Hey, man," Jeralt ambled on over. "You gambling with my child?"

"Boss!" the man paled. "Uh, no sirre. Nope." He shoved the coin at Byleth, who stared up at him dully and did not accept it.

"Nah, don't fret. It'll be a teaching moment," Jeralt said amicably. "Byleth likes numbers, and what better way to learn 'em than betting for gold?" He nodded at the die on the ground. "You still got another left, right? I bet the next'll roll an odd number, too."

The mage looked very sour, but complied immediately. Predictably, the die rolled a five.

"How about that," Jeralt said, smiling with all his teeth. "Seems like lady luck was on my side."

The mage scooped up his loaded dice and left in a hurry with a tail between his legs. Jeralt flipped the coin once with a practiced toss, and handed Serios' profile to Byleth.

"Here you go, kid," Jeralt said. "Justly regained, for a given meanin' of the word."

The crease made a reappearance between Byleth's eyes. Were they calculating the odds without all the facts? It was cute, is what it was. Jeralt took pity on them.

"His dice were loaded. Do you know what that means?"

Byleth's blank face said it all.

"It means they've got weight on one side, so it always falls same-face up. Guy rigged it so he'd always roll the same number."

"Rigged it," Byleth echoed.

"Mmhmm. One die was set to three, the other to five. Jackass can bet odd if he rolls a single die, or even if he rolls both. No matter what, he'll always win." Jeralt rubbed Byleth's head affectionately. "You had no chance."

"No chance," Byleth murmured. They stared at the coin. "Fifty-fifty."

Jeralt hummed. "Not quite. Even a fair coin's not fair, in the right hands," he said.

Byleth surprised him by nodding. "Three hundred and two heads," they said. "Three hundred and four tails." They flipped it. "Three hundred and five tails."

"Is that what you've been doing?" Jeralt laughed. "Naw, kid, that's still pretty close to fifty-fifty. What I'm talking about is this -- may I have it, for a moment?" He took the coin, and tossed it. It landed, neatly, Seiros-side up. "See?" Again, Seiros-side up.

Byleth frowned. "Again."

Jeralt did so easily. Heads. Heads. Heads.

Byleth's little fingers clutched at the coin. Tails. Heads. Tails. Tails.

"Again," Byleth repeated, shoving it back into Jeralt's hands. Jeralt laughed, and produced, infallibly: Heads, Heads, Heads.

And heads again, for good measure.

"Why," Byleth said.

"Does it bother you?" Jeralt smiled. "Nice to know you can get bothered."

"Why," Byleth repeated.

"Seiros is on my side," Jeralt joked.

Byleth took the coin, and started flipping it obsessively. Their expression was very slightly pinched. Heads, Tails, Tails, Heads, Tails, Heads, Heads.

"Calm down, calm down!" Jeralt laughed. "I was cheating, too."

Byleth was staring at him now. "Rigged it."

"Kinda. See, you toss a coin with the exact same force, under the exact same circumstances, and odds are higher you'll get the same face over and over." Jeralt absently flipped the coin, Seiros-side up. "'Course, your chances are affected by variables like wind speed and air density. Even I can't reproduce this in a storm. But, like I said, under the right circumstances, even a fair coin's unfair in the right hands."

"In the right hands," Byleth echoed quietly.

--

The coin thing didn't go away for a while. It drove even Jeralt to place a firm and heavy hand over Byleth's, during a particularly headache-inducing planning session. A couple of mercenaries kicked Byleth out of annoyance afterward and then his plan had to be modified to account for two less men, 'cause Jeralt had kicked them right back and cracked five of their ribs in the process.

It did make Byleth a little more discrete about doing it so often, thank the Saints. On the other hand, it drove Byleth to start hanging around the gambling table a lot more, learning to count cards and mastering sleight of hand techniques, which earned Byleth a fair amount of kicks and punches from pissed off men when the pint-sized kid got increasingly better at winning their hard earned money from right under their noses.

Jeralt was a mercenary through and through, though, and eventually stopped stepping in to save his kid from their own bull-headedness. Sure, Jeralt had done a stint as a Knight of Seiros for some years prior to Byleth's birth, and yeah, he'd literally been one of Seiros' original knights way back, as lawful and pious as he'd ever be, but the vast majority of his years on this goddess-forsaken earth had been spent among rowdy assholes, jeering and hooting right alongside them, surviving by skill and grit alone. Byleth would either learn to read a room, or they'd simply have to get really good at dodging blows.

--

"You've got to learn to read a room, kid," Jeralt sighed.

Byleth noisily spat out a glob of blood.

"Hey, look at me. Kid. Byleth." Jeralt pulled Byleth's swollen face towards him. "When someone's talkin' to you, it's polite to look at them, yeah?" He passed a wet cloth over Byleth's dirty face. "Man, you don't do things by halves, do you?"

"Fifty percent," Byleth muttered, looking at Jeralt's face obediently out of one eye.

"I didn't mean that literally. It's a form of expression." Jeralt poured more liquor onto the cloth, and firmly kept Byleth from shying away when he pressed it into their face. "You're real smart, sometimes, but a real dumbass the rest. A little like your mother, in that sense."

Byleth stilled. "Mother?"

"Mmhmm." Jeralt gentled his hands, now that Byleth wasn't struggling so hard. "She had an incredible memory. Could remember pretty much anythin' she'd ever heard, word for word." He bandaged Byleth's head slowly. "My own memory's for shit, so I admired that about her. She taught me to write down stuff, so I wouldn't forget." Jeralt laughed softly. "But boy, she was a total klutz. I ain't ever seen a lady so ill suited to any manner of physical activity." It dwindled back into a sigh. "Her mind was sharp, but her body was real weak."

Byleth stared emptily up at him.

"What I'm saying is: your brain's sharp but your heart’s real weak,” Jeralt said bluntly.

"My heart," Byleth echoed, and touched their chest.

"Not literally," Jeralt sighed, and then squinted. "Then again, in your case..." He placed his hand over Byleth's. It wasn't a normal thump-thump. It was more a ba-shhh. Ba-shhh. "Even your heart's literally weak," Jeralt said quietly.

"Literally," Byleth said.

"Well, it don't keep you from getting into fights, so I'm sure it'll stay strong enough to keep you going till you're older than your old man." Jeralt rubbed Byleth's head, careful with the bandage. "Do you know why people hit you, Byleth?"

"Speed," Byleth said, easily. "Mine's less."

Jeralt had to laugh at that cocksure response. "Well, yeah, sure. Learnin' to dodge is all well and good. But, think a little about action and consequence. Why d'you think they try in the first place?"

No response. Byleth's mind was probably straining like a pulley trying to haul up a heavy pail of water. Except the water was poison. Jeralt took pity on his kid.

"You lack social awareness. When someone's getting mad, you don't realize. And then you fully piss off people 'cause you ignore the signs."

"The signs?"

"Mmhmm. If a wolf's hair stands straight up, and it's hunches are higher than its head, what d'you think is happening?"

"Attack," Byleth said.

"Yep, it's getting ready to maul you 'cause it's pissed the fuck off. Humans aren't always so obvious, but their posture changes, too. Muscles get tighter. Sometimes they grit their teeth, like this." Jeralt clenched his teeth, and lowered his brow. "This is someone gettin' frustrated. Angry."

Byleth looked at his mouth attentively. "Angry."

"Right. You gotta learn to recognize patterns. Every action has consequence."

"Every action has consequence," Byleth repeated. They lowered their brow, and comically clenched their teeth. Even missing a tooth, it hardly looked menacing. "Angry."

Saints, they looked more constipated than pissed. Jeralt couldn't help but laugh.

"Happy," Byleth said.

"Yeah," Jeralt grinned. "That's my happy face."

Byleth fiddled with their coin. Flipped it, Seiros-side up. "Happy." Flip, heads. "Happy." Flip, heads. "Happy." Flip.

"All right, all right. That's enough," Jeralt said.

Byleth looked at him instead, and flipped. A glance down: it had landed on tails. "Angry."

"That's the kind of behaviour I'm talking about," Jeralt said, exasperated. "Look, I ain't saying they're right to hit you for it, but you can be downright annoying."

Byleth was quiet. They flipped a couple more times, in the silence. Heads. Heads. Heads. Tails.

"I know you do that 'cause you like it, and your brain's fulla numbers," Jeralt said. "But doing the same thing a hundred thousand times and expecting a different outcome ain't smart, it's stupid."

Byleth flipped the coin one more time before Jeralt snagged it out of the air.

"Do the math in your head, quiet-like," Jeralt said.

"In the right hands, even a fair coin's unfair," Byleth said lowly. "Practice makes perfect."

"Now you're just echoing bullshit I've said, which, like I said, is annoying."

Byleth looked down and mouthed, annoying. Annoying. Goddess, but his kid got on every last nerve.

"Byleth," Jeralt said.

The kid's body tensed, lowered, and their keen eyes stared up at him. What? Did they think Jeralt would hit them?

"Learn to read a room," Byleth echoed quietly, eyes tracking Jeralt's hands, which were only going up to be put on his waist, okay? Jeralt had yet to hit his kid outside of a mock battle and only sometimes when he was well into his liquor, and even then the worst of it was a cuff to the head. He wasn't his dickwad da, may he be less than rot these hundred years since.

"You do that," Jeralt sighed. He looked to the heavens. Oh, Beloved, grant him patience. "Okay. You like numbers, yeah? Quantify your actions. That means keep count of them. How many times d'you have to do a certain thing before you get a negative reaction? Is there a certain action that gets you a positive reaction, instead?"

"Actions have consequence," Byleth murmured sub-vocally, and stared with immense focus on Jeralt's hands.

Saints, he needed a drink.

--

Byleth got better about the coin thing, after that. Jeralt still saw it, out the corner of his eye, but Byleth didn't flip it anymore. They fiddled with it, danced it around their knuckles like a regular ol' rogue, but otherwise it was out of sight, out of mind. The guys got less rowdy with the kid, too, or maybe that's just 'cause the whole crew got busier. War was on the horizon, and that always meant business.

--

Jeralt had never been very good about keeping track of world history, even before he'd been condemned to live through it. His life had always been a series of battles, over and over and over again. The players changed, sure, and the terrain might morph the stage, but the gist of it was unerringly the same: take your lance and put the pointy end in all the enemies you can, until no one is left standing.

Now, Jeralt was known in modern times as a pretty reliable tactician. Few left alive knew that this was not something that came naturally to him; aye, for his first several dozen or so years he'd been a rather hard headed paladin, brute forcing his way through any conflict with strength in his arms and stubborn faith in his breast. It was only through literal years spent fighting that he'd begun using more than his limbs to get an edge in battle.

You go through enough of them, and even a thick headed brute like Jeralt developed some sense of strategy.

Still, while functionally immortal, he wasn't anywhere near infallible.

Jeralt and his mercenaries soon found themselves on the losing side of the conflict between House Hrym and the Adrestian Empire.

--

"Retreat!" Jeralt hollered into the rain. "Fall back!"

The field was absolute chaos. Previously stable terrain had become a mud caked nightmare. Jeralt's horse broke a leg in the disarray, and he'd had to abandon it without having the chance to put it out of its misery. This whole battle was a disaster. First of all, the contract had stated it would be House Hrym against a couple of Eastern Church fogies, not the entire fucking Royal Army. Talk about shitty intel. An amateur's mistake, Jeralt berated himself. You gotta screen your fucking contracts before you accept them. Gold-blind bastard. Goddess-forsaken imbecile.

"Byleth!" Jeralt stumbled into the forested area where he'd ordered his kid's squad to stay, an hour back. "Byleth!"

There were bodies strewn here and there, evidence of a skirmish. Most of the corpses bore his mercenary symbol on their armor. Damn, damn.

"Byleth!"

A noise from above had him immediately hefting his lance, preparing to throw it.

"Don't shoot," his stupid, wonderful kid said, four meters up in a birch tree.

"Byleth! Oh, praise the Goddess!" For a second, Jeralt wanted to climb up the tree like a monkey, heavy armour be damned. He wanted to hold Byleth and never let go.

Then reality hit him when he heard shouting in the distance. The enemy was fast approaching.

Shit.

"Byleth," Jeralt said, hurriedly. "Don't fight if you get caught. If someone asks you, I am not your father. You're a war orphan. They will not harm you if you say that. Do you understand? Don't fight."

Byleth's eyes were difficult to see, so far up, dark as it was.

"I love you, kid," Jeralt said, and then turned around and ran towards the voices.

--

Jeralt had been kept alive by Seiros' cursed blood for ages, long past his ability to remember. Though he could fall ill to disease, and he'd suffered wounds like any other man of flesh and blood, desperation could and had driven him to feats of nigh monstrous strength on more than one occasion.

He had no stake in this war, not with his client's House destroyed and the client himself dead in the water. But his kid was shivering in the trees, and his wife was buried in the ground, far west of this goddess-forsaken land. He would not die here. He could not.

Jeralt's face twisted into a bestial snarl, and readied his lance.

--

They called him the Blade Breaker, afterward. To his consternation, the only reason such a name came to pass into common knowledge was because he'd left enough men alive to repeat it.

--

It took him two soul-destroying weeks to find Byleth again. He'd tracked the kid's muddy footprints halfway to Airmid before the trail had gone cold in the river. He'd nearly eaten a sword there and then, were it not for his shame of meeting his wife again empty handed. What remained of his mercenary band slowly caught up to him as he ducked in and out of towns, desperately searching for his dark-haired child, and it was only thanks to one of their number that he heard word of a small Eastern Church monastery swelling up with newly orphaned kids from as far away as Ordelia.

"That's my child," Jeralt insisted, fighting to keep his temper.

The nun looked both scared and skeptic. "Is that your father, Beleth?"

'Beleth' was wearing a skirt and someone had plaited their wild hair into sensible braids. Their eyes were as dull as ever. Jeralt could forget the names and faces of all his comrades, hell, even his wife's features got foggy thanks to his swiss cheese memory, but even he could never forget his own kid's dumbfuck face.

"No," Byleth said cooly. "He's a stranger."

"Byleth," Jeralt's face twisted. He'd already lost half of his crew to this profitless season, and another quarter had abandoned the battalion when he'd force-marched them to this shitty orphanage through enemy territory instead of straight back home. He didn't have time to dawdle with the goddess-damned Holy Army at his heels, killing stragglers.

"Please, sir, leave us," the nun said, shakily. She bravely stood in between him and Byleth, as if her fat ass would ever be enough to keep him from his child.

Jeralt sighed. "This isn't funny, Byleth. I am not leaving you here." His face became stony. "If I have to, I will raze this place to the ground to bring you home."

"Goddess protect us," the nun whispered faintly.

"Boss," one of his own mages said, uncomfortable.

From some hidden pocket in those ridiculous skirts, Byleth produced a coin. "Tails, I stay," they said. "Heads, I go."

Jeralt stared. "Excuse me?"

"Fifty-fifty," Byleth said. "Odds are even."

What the fuck? Jeralt’s heart hurt. What the hell was Byleth playing at? "Fine," Jeralt snarled. "Fine! If that's really how you want to play it. You tell me, kid. Do you want to stay, or do you want to go?"

Byleth had never looked nervous in their entire life. They wouldn't start now, not even if it hurt Jeralt's soul to see Byleth so thoroughly disown him with their eyes.

Byleth flipped the coin.

--

(Seiros was still with him, it seemed, even if Jeralt had long since abandoned her.)

--

If he knocked Byleth's head around for the scare and then drank himself to a near stupor afterward, then it was his own damn business. Eastern Fodlan could go rot, for all he cared to return there.

--

Byleth became surprisingly more sociable, after that debacle. Either that thrice damned orphanage had done them some good, or Jeralt's fists had knocked something lose.

"Jeralt," Byleth said. Goddess, their hair had gotten really long, Jeralt mused. "How do I make someone like me?"

Wait, what? "Huh?" Jeralt responded, stupidly. "Who?" Byleth surely wasn't old enough to be getting crushes, right? How old had Jeralt been the first time someone had turned his head? He'd definitely been way taller than Byleth. "Who're we talking about?"

"Anyone." The coin flashed between their fingers for a brief second, and then disappeared into their sleeves. "You."

Jeralt rubbed his blood-shot eyes. He shouldn't have binge drank that lovely bottle of ricewine last night. "Me? Saints, kid, I already like you." He gestured helplessly. "D'you think I'd burn down a Seiros-blessed church for any brat but you?"

Byleth stared at him emptily, like sheep grazing in a field. "Oh," they said. "Okay." A discrete flip. Tails.

"Gifts," Jeralt barked. "Flowers. Thoughtful shit like that makes people like you."

"Okay," Byleth said.

"Food's always nice," Jeralt said. "Talk to 'em, obviously. Listen to them. People love nothing less than being listened to by someone that's actually paying attention to their bullshit."

"Okay," Byleth said. They stared down at their coin, and then, very deliberately, held it out. "Here."

Jeralt blinked down at the coin, Seiros' serene profile facing him. Byleth looked, abruptly, a lot like her.

"It's for you, Jeralt." Byleth said. "I don't need it anymore."

"O-okay." Jeralt accepted it. It was colder than he expected it to be, considering how often Byleth held it close. "The hell's this mean?"

"I make my own numbers, now," Byleth explained. "In my head. But you need more practice."

A wheezing laugh escaped him. "Excuse me?" Was this little shit really his child? What an attitude Byleth was gaining!

"Yes," Byleth said solemnly. "Practice makes perfect."

--

That wasn't the last 'gift' Byleth gave him. From truly useless junk like weeds -- "These aren't exactly flowers, kid" -- to remarkably thoughtful (or luckily guessed) presents -- "Shield polish, huh? I was looking for this!" -- Byleth slowly plied him with trinkets. It wasn't just him, either. Byleth presented dazed frogs -- "For target practice" -- and charred squirrels -- "For eating" -- to the few remaining men in Delta squad, who'd survived the forest skirmish. Like Jeralt, they accepted it with bemused grace. Who was this considerable kid, and what had happened to the quiet, soulless child that had graced their midst for years?

Not that Jeralt was complaining. It was nice not to have to walk into Byleth getting the shit kicked out of them for being weird. Nah, now he got to walk in on Byleth getting the shit kicked out of them for a fee. 'Cause Byleth had started giving the mercenaries money to teach them swordsmanship, money they swindled back during gambling 'cause that kid's fingers had only gotten more nimble with age.

Jeralt had to admit, he was charmed. Seems like his kid would grow up to be a damn good mercenary, if they kept it up.

And kept it up Byleth did. Until it all, unerringly, swung right back around to annoying.

"Byleth, I don't need that," Jeralt refused, eyeing the third sword offered that week.

"Byleth, that ain't mine," Jeralt said, looking at the stuffed pillowcase.

"Okay, that's enough." Jeralt put his hand over Byleth's own. "I'm flattered you've become obsessed with gift-givin' but even this has gotten ridiculous. Stop."

Byleth's doll like eyes looked up at him guilelessly. "Two," they said, underneath their breath.

"What're you mumbling about?"

Byleth cleared their throat. "Two gifts in a week is good," they said solemnly, exactly like a researcher that had carefully gathered data and drawn a sensible conclusion. "Four is too much."

"What the fuck, kid?"

"It's my numbers," Byleth said.

Jeralt's sigh turned into a half-hearted laugh. "Your numbers, huh?"

"Yes," Byleth said.

"That sure is something," Jeralt said. He reached out, and ruffled Byleth's hair. "Weird kid. But you're my kid. You got that?"

"I got that," Byleth said.

And that was enough.

[itsallavengers]

Hide and Seek

Tony wasn’t too sure how they managed to get on to the topic. 

Actually- scratch that- yes he was. It was Clint. All bad things in the world happened because of Clint. 

Probably.

Anyway- Clint had been talking about his years in the circus, and how they’d taught him all sorts of weird ways to contort your body for the extra showmanship. “Made for some pretty awesome games of hide and seek, though,” he’d said, nodding serenely to himself as he’d sipped from his coffee.

“I bet I’d still find you in under an hour,” Natasha had challenged, raising a daring eyebrow up at him before turning back to the morning paper.

Clint scoffed, turning to Steve, who was stood cooking eggs on the stove. “Cap, you can vouch for me here, right? I am the master at hide and seek. No one beats me at hide and seek.”

And Steve had laughed- a lovely throaty thing that made Tony smile just from hearing it. “Uhhh, I don’t know? It depends on a lot of variables. If it were in a park, maybe- but here? Tony would beat you hands-down. He knows every nook and cranny of this tower, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

And then- here had come Tony’s fatal mistake of the day. Later, he’d pin it on lack of caffeine in his system and the early hour at which he was conscious- but really, he was just an idiot who’d forgotten how offended his teammates could (and did) get on his behalf.

“Actually, I’ve never played. Although I could still probably beat Barton.”

(Read more, mobile users! Finish it on your laptop or PC if you can’t on mobile!)

The room had gone silent. Even Bruce, who was napping on the tabletop, had lifted his head a little in surprise.

“You what?” Clint had asked incredulously.

Tony shrugged. “Too busy being a prodigy, remember? No time for that sort of shit.”

Steve was staring at him, the stupid concerned look on his face that he seemed to wear a lot when Tony said something to do with his childhood.

 It didn’t seem as if anyone knew what to say. Tony hadn’t even realised it was such a big deal.

Sensing a tactical retreat may be best for this situation, he opened his mouth and began walking backward, ready to roll an excuse off his tongue and hurry back to his workshop. 

Except a hand suddenly swung up and rested on his chest gently, blocking his path. Tony followed it with his eyes until he rested on Steve’s face, shooting a questioning eyebrow-raise his way.

“Okay guys- looks like we’re having a surprise team training session today,” Steve finally said, in response to Tony’s look. “Hide and seek, in the tower. If you get caught, you gotta help the seeker to find the ones who are still in the game. Thor, buddy, do you know how to play, or do you want us to go through it with you too-”

“No,” Tony cut in, slicing a hand through the air, “I am an adult. I do not need to be shown how to play some dumb kids game. I’ve gone this long without it, I don’t-”

“This isn’t for you, Stark, didn’t you hear? Team training session, remember? Now get over yourself and listen to Cap,” Clint had called out, grinning over the lip of his mug.

Tony flipped him off on autopilot, but Steve was just nodding his head in agreement, and Tony knew it was already a lost cause. “Tony, you can stay with me for the first few games. The rules really are simple, I’ll teach you them on the way. For now- I declare Bruce as the first seeker. You’re not allowed to leave the top five floors of the tower, but every place above that is fair game. Everyone has two minutes to hide.”

And suddenly, Steve had started pulling on Tony’s wrist and dragging him forward, a big grin on his face as he whispered “take me to the most hidden spot in this damn penthouse Tony.”

Tony shot him a look. It was a very judgemental thing. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“You don’t fuck around when you’re playing hide and seek,” Steve answered solemnly. “It’s every man for himself. You could hide with someone for a whole game and have their back, but once they get caught? You ain’t on the same side no more,” 

“Explain to me how this a team game, again,” Tony said dryly.

Steve just grinned. “It is for us. I have made the tactical decision to make a one-off exception in order to teach you the rules.”

“You just want a good hiding spot in my damn tower, don’t you?”

Steve had paused, trying to look suitably offended, before he apparently gave up and shrugged. “Like I said- you don’t fuck around when you play hide and seek.”

*****

And that’s how Tony ended up sat in a vent above Clint’s room.

*****

“It’s been like, five whole minutes. My back hurts,” Tony whined.

Steve chuckled beside him. What with him being a literal giant, his position was even more uncomfortable than Tony’s- not that he seemed to care. “It depends what we’re going for. You can play the long game, try and win but risk facing boredom. Or you can live fast and lose quick by constantly moving hiding spots. More thrilling, but riskier.”

“Steve, we are fucking Avengers, not kids. I’m sure-”

“The people after you are Avengers too, remember,” Steve whispered, “plus- who knows who he’s found yet. Maybe Nat. You really wanna risk running around the tower when you have the Black Widow gunning for you?”

No. Tony did not.

“Fine,” he said grouchily, wishing he’d brought his tablet so that he could fiddle (and maybe track the activity in the top five floors- just to keep ahead of the game, you know.)

Steve opened his mouth, but then they both heard the door open quickly and the footsteps of someone running into the room, and both of them froze in their vent. 

Tony shot Steve a look, and Steve pressed a finger to his lips. The person below them was breathing a little heavily, like he’d been running, and then they both heard the scrambling of feet as they stepped on top of some sort of furniture.

Tony knew that walk. It wasn’t Bruce’s.

Before Steve could even stop him. he’d lifted the hatch and stuck his head out into the room, spotting Clint as he tried to squeeze himself into a suitcase under his bed.

They stared at eachother for a few seconds, before Clint gave a little salute and Tony breathed out in relief.

“It’s okay, it’s just Clint,” Tony called out to Steve, who just groaned. “What? What did I do, I was only checking-”

“What did I tell you about every man for himself, Tony? He knows our position now, we’re gonna have to move-”

“Cap,” Clint said, betrayed. “You think I’d ever rat you out?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts,” Clint said, and Tony opened his mouth to add in when suddenly another muffled set of footsteps sounded down the hall, and Clint’s eyes widened. “Fuck, fuck, you guys distracted me, I knew he was coming, holy shit, get down here and help me hide!” Clint hissed, looking around wildly at the half-opened suitcase and then kicking it back under the bed.

Tony was halfway to making his way back down quickly, when a hand wrapped around his waist and pulled him back.

Clint whisper-yelled underneath them, but Tony could no longer see him, because Steve was sealing the hatch back again and looking at Tony. “He’s gone. We can’t help him. Now get shuffling, we have to make it to the next hatch before they do.”

“He’s not even been caught yet- what the hell is this game? Does everyone turn into a heartless bitch when they play? No wonder kids are so cruel,” Tony said wildly, as Steve pushed his shoulders again. 

The door slammed open beneath them and they heard Clint scream “NOT ME, PLEASE, STEVE AND TONY ARE IN THE VENTS, GET THEM INSTEAD!”

Tony gasped. “He snitched!” 

“I told you!” Steve said, looking smug.

“Okay okay, you win. Just keep moving, soldier.”

There was another scream and a laugh as Bruce undoubtedly tug him, and then an eerie silence. Tony paused, trying to listen in.

He couldn’t hear a thing, but there was a tiny sound of-

A few meters back, the hatch opened, and Clint’s face looked back at them.

“I’m a seeker now,” Clint shrugged, before his hands began finding purchase on the vent.

Steve, who was behind Tony, quickly shoved his ass and sent him stumbling forward. “MOVE!”

Tony did. He crawled like his life depended on it, unable to stop the excited giggles from his own mouth as Clint followed, hot on their tail. Steve was yelling at him to move, and Tony had never thought there would be a point in his life when he’d be annoyed by Steve’s hands on his ass, but here they were.

Eventually, Tony saw another hatch a few meters ahead, and now it was just a desperate race as to who would get there first- Clint to them, or them to the vent.

In the end, they just managed to make it. Tony threw himself on to the bed underneath him (Natasha’s- let’s hope she hadn’t been caught yet too) and Steve followed, shutting and locking the vent just as Clint’s hands reached out to where he had been seconds before.

There were muffled curses and threats above them, but Steve and Tony were already moving, Steve pulling at Tony’s hand again and dragging them out of the room, running out into the corridor just as Bruce rounded the corner and spotted them.

“Time to haul ass again, then,” Tony sighed wearily, as Steve whooped and pulled them in the other direction.

*****

“What about tag?”

“Nope.”

“Blind man’s bluff?”

“Never even heard of it.”

“Oh come on-  capture the flag?”

Tony shook his head in amusement as he stared out across the New York skyline and watched the sun set slowly across it. They were both relaxing, feet dangling over the edge of the horizontal line that made the ‘A’ of their Avengers Tower. This spot was almost impossible to get to without prior knowledge of its existence- Tony was confident that they weren’t about to be caught any time soon.

Steve huffed, leaning back against the wall of tower and looking down at the buildings. Tony spared him a glance; the orange light bouncing off his face, the breeze whipping up the hairs that strayed across his forehead and the smile on his lips that had been there pretty much permanently since the day had begun.

Tony thought about it a lot, sure- but he’d never be able to get over how beautiful Steve always managed to look. Effortless, yet constant. 

“So tell me the real reason why you missed out on all this,” Steve said, after a few seconds of silence.

The grin slid off Tony’s face, and was replaced with an involuntary scowl. “I told you, Steve- kid prodigy, I never liked any of that stuff-”

“You’ve absolutely loved playing this game today, Tony, I’ve seen you. You haven’t stopped grinning for pretty much 7 hours.”

Oh. He... he hadn’t been aware he was doing that.

Tony pursed his lips, leaning back against the wall and trying not to feel Steve’s gaze burning into the side of his face.

“You know why, Steve,” he said quietly.

“No, I don-”

“Because i was lonely!” Tony snapped, turning to face Steve angrily. “You want me to say it? Fine. I was lonely and all the neighbourhood kids would rather spit at me and call me a freak than play goddamn tag with me. I was lonely and my own parents chose to ignore me, or- y’know- just hit me if I was being annoying enough, so they weren’t exactly up for it either.”

Tony looked down at his hands; tapping incessantly against his knees, and pointedly did not look at Steve. He wished he had just lied- said it was because he thought it was lame, or never enjoyed running around as a little kid, or just anything that hadn’t been what he’d actually gone and-

His hands paused their tapping when another was placed over them, holding them gently and quietly calming the erratic movements.

Tony looked up at Steve, who was staring softly at him, brows drawn a little closer together than they had been before. “You’re never gonna have to be alone again, Tony. Not any more.”

When Tony didn’t say anything, Steve barrelled on. “And I’ll teach you. We all will. Every game we can think of, we’ll do it during team-building-”

“Steve,” Tony said, exasperated, “I already told you. I am a grown-ass man, I do not need-”

“A grown-ass man who never got to actually be a kid,” Steve raised an eyebrow, and looked back out on to the horizon. 

His hand was still holding Tony’s.

“I...” he didn’t know what he was going to say. Argue, maybe. He always argued. He could do arguing.

Except when he looked up, Steve had moved an awful lot closer, and before he could even begin to yell, his mouth became occupied.

With Steve.

Kissing him.

Squeaking a little in surprise, he instinctively let his hand rise, cupping around Steve’s neck and drawing him in, moving them closer, because Tony didn’t know why, he didn’t know how, but he knew that he wanted. 

Good God, did he want.

Steve breathed out softly, crowding over Tony as he rose to his knees, taking Tony’s face in his hands and kissing him gently, so very gently.

 It was like the sunset- quiet and delicate and fucking mesmerising.

“Oh, come on man! Have you been making out all this time?”

Tony broke away, turning his head to find the source of the noise, but Steve seemed entirely unfazed- simply using Tony’s turned head as an excuse to press soft kisses along his exposed neck instead.

His eyesight went a tad blurry at that, but he still managed to spot Clint, half-way to clambering up the left side of the ‘A’ and looking thoroughly pissed. “We had to bribe JARVIS to find you! We thought real baddies had taken you! And here you are, just fucking kissing eachother like gross idiots on the side of the tower! Fuck you, honestly, I’m never playing with you guys again, you’re no fun-”

Finally, Steve looked up, much to Tony’s disappointment. “Next week it’s capture the flag. You in?”

Clint paused, and he shot them both an utterly unamused look before muttering “fine. God. But only because I really like capture the flag. We’re all still mad at you.”

“Okay,” and back Steve went to the kissing thing again, a finger gently tilting Tony’s head back toward him before bringing their mouths together again.

Tony could feel him smiling. 

Behind them, Clint was huffing and complaining as he made his way back down, but he was completely ignored. 

Tony and Steve had far better things to concentrate on, to be honest.

[raecrossman]

Lifetrak Zoom HRV Review

By Crabby McSlacker As a greedy, gadget-obsessed health blogger, I was pretty psyched to get the opportunity to review the Lifetrak Zoom HRV Zoom HRV activity tracker. (And, full disclosure: I got to keep it). The Zoom measures a wide variety of activity metrics from your wrist (or ankle, or forearm). What you do not need to use the Zoom: a chest strap! So I've been testing the Zoom out for a couple of weeks in true Crabby McSlacker style: misunderstanding instructions, forgetting to hit "record" to begin or end my workouts, failing to appreciate the nuances, and finding myself too lazy for a comprehensive data comparison with my other activity tracker, the Polar M400. Yet my lack of reviewing diligence does not, of course, keep me from having opinions. So what's good and bad about the the Lifetrak Zoom? And who should buy one and who should not?

Features of the LifeTrak Zoom

Wanna see some of the specs? (And yes, this is the part of the review where I exercise my "cut and paste" muscles).

Optical heart rate (PPG) measurement

Auto and on-demand heart rate variability (HRV)

Under-water heart rate

HR zone vibra-alert

Real-Time Fitness Scoring

VScan (yielding a VScore fitness/recovery measurement)

Bluetooth® and ANT+ compatible

Zoom HRV app for iOS and Android

Can be worn on wrist, arm, head (???!!?) or leg (punctuation mine)

Smart Activity Tracking

Inactivity alert

Activity type tracking

HR-linked, 24-hour calorie burn

Measures total sleep time and assesses sleep quality

Swim lap counter

Step counter

Distance traveled

Step and distance calibration

Time

LED indicators

Vibration alarm

Rechargeable lithium ion battery

Pod docking station with charging cable (included)

Water Resistance, Submersible up to 50M

Limited 1 year Warranty plus additional year with registration

Adjustable, ultra-soft silicone band

Impact resistant ABS pod

An impressive list, and one of the most surprising, for a wrist-based monitor, is it's ability to track Heart Rate Variability. HRV might sound like something you wouldn't want much of, right? When we think of our hearts, we tend to think: Let's not get too crazy in there, no messing around ok? Just keep to the beat, no lollygagging or racing around. But it turns out that in general, high HRV tends to be a good thing. It means your heart is more chill, open-minded and adaptable and not afraid to change things up. Whereas low HRV is more likely to mean a heart that's uptight and inflexible and uncool, like your old uncle Mort, who refuses to learn to text and hasn't changed his hairstyle since 1967. HRV has something to do with the varying input of the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems but whatever. High HRV seems to mean more parasympathetic activity, stuff like relaxing, digesting, sleeping and recovering, as opposed to the whole stressful and fight or flight mode of the sympathetic nervous system. Why is HRV so hip now? It's being touted as a powerful indicator of not only your exercise recovery status, but as a predictor of all kinds of good (or dire) health outcomes. There's research to back some of the claims up, others seem possibly a little too gung ho, but what do I know? You can find out a lot more about heart rate variability by checking out Heartmath's HRV info, or Lifetrak's. Or check out our friends at Wikipedia or Mark's Daily Apple. (And Mark also has some tips on How to Increase your HRV.) The Zoom is certainly not the only device that measures this. My Polar RCX3F did too. As does my Polar M400. But they required chest straps to measure it.

So What's Great About the Zoom?

--The sheer number of things it measures. I won't repeat the whole list, but wowza. Especially its ability to give you a recovery score based on HRV so you know if it's a good day to push yourself hard or take it easy. Note: you can measure HRV in real time if you want to sit still for 3 minutes, but even better, it automatically takes it every night as you sleep so you get a score every morning. My recovery score varied a fair amount, and seemed to track well with how I actually felt and performed. Who knows if it's accurate in any absolute sense, I don't have a physiology lab handy, but it did seem to be a useful measure, and it will be nice to know if HRV is going down or up over time. --The smartphone app is pretty darn decent. You can record your workouts right onto your phone and view the app data during your workout, or if you don't want to take your phone, the Zoom will record your workout and you can upload it along with all your other data later. --It's Relatively Low Profile and Flexible: For a tracker that measures so many things, it's not hideously ugly on the wrist. Look how massive and ridiculous my Polar looks next to it, like I mixed up my electronics and accidentally strapped a big screen TV to my forearm.

Plus the zoom can be worn on the arm or ankle if you don't want anything on your wrist at all. (Or hell, try the WTF option of wearing it on your head).

What Was Not So Great About the Zoom

--Accuracy Questions: My Polar M400 uses a chest strap for recorded workouts, has GPS, and does all day/night activity tracking too.  I was really really hoping that the data I got from the Zoom would be fairly close to what my Polar was telling me. Not so much. Real time heart rate, total steps, calories burned, maximum and minimum heart rates: lots of discrepancy between the two different kinds of monitors.  Total daily steps and calories were roughly 25% lower on the zoom than my Polar, and real-time heart-rate would sometimes be as much as 40 beats a minute different during high intensity workouts. (Note: if the Zoom were giving me extra credit for my efforts, instead of less, I might feel less pissy about it.) Of course, it's theoretically possible that the Zoom is right, and my Polar has been wrong all this time. Yet is it a coincidence that I keep reading that wrist heart rate monitors are less accurate than chest strap monitors? Zoom's technology is better than the average wrist based monitor, it has more sensors than most do, so it's possible it's accurate and my Polar is wrong, but I remain suspicious. --Display: I found the lack of a real display on the watch to be a huge pain in the ass. There is theoretically a way to tell time on it, within five minutes, but frequently I'd make the magic gesture with my wrist and nothing would happen. You are mostly dependent on your smartphone to see what's going on, and if you don't want to bring a phone along with you, you have to try to decipher various flashes and buzzes that were sometimes too confusing for this clueless blogger to comprehend.

--Buttons:  Well, not plural actually. There's only one. Which means you have to learn how to tell it to do things by pressing the button three times in a row, or two, or one, or hold it for three seconds, etc depending on what you want to do. Using up valuable brain memory cells which could be storing ATM passwords or the location of your car keys and sunglasses.

Bottom Line:

I'd recommend this for folks who (a) want a lot of functionality without a lot of bulk; (b) like to exercise with their smartphones so don't care so much about a super-fancy display on their wrists, and who (c) are looking for a general sense of their activity levels and recovery status. It's definitely the least-hassle way to measure HRV I've encountered, and HRV does seem like a smart number to be aware of. But if my experience is typical, the device might disappoint those who prefer a display that doesn't need a smartphone to read, and are more demanding about heart-rate accuracy during vigorous exercise. Anyone else a gadget nut? Or do you prefer to go low tech when you workout? Or hey, how was your memorial day weekend, was your weather as shitty as our was?

Lifetrak Zoom HRV Review posted first on your-t1-blog-url

[sassyhottubstrawberry-blog]

Why is health insurance so expensive?

"Why is health insurance so expensive?

Why is it so costly, that many Americans cannot afford it, so when they do get sick or need to go to the doctor, they end up drowning in debt anyway?    I can't even afford health insurance so every winter I pray that I don't get bronchitis because I can't afford to go to the Dr. or even the prescription medicine. I know that's sad...but there's nothing I can really do about it unless I quit school, which would further set me back to getting a full-time job that will actually grant me good health insurance.    Is health insurance rising because people aren't taking good care of themselves? Such as not eating a healthy diet, exercising, avoiding smoking, drinking, etc.? Does it have to do with the KIND of health insurance you have-- HMO, PPO, etc.?    Your answers would be greatly appreciated, thanks!

BEST ANSWER:  Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://financeandcreditsolutions.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr 

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Home and contents insurance application form?

i need one of these for my commerce assignment where can i get one from.

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http://video.yahoo.com/network/100284668?v=4533761&l=3774753

CAR INSURANCE?!?!?!?!?!?!?

well my older brother is going to go on my dads insurance on his own car. It comes to 100 a month. i was wondering if i can also go on the insurance, and if it would cost any more for me to do so. And please say if there is any other policy i an go o where me and my brother can go onto my fathers insruance.""

Classic car insurance for 17 year old?

i really wanna drive, and i dont really have a taste for most modern motors. so ive been looking at an 80's mk2 fiesta. i think its a sweet motor, a 1.1 is a good size engine for cost cutting and the XR2 models look like a great starter/driver car. though a look alike would be fine! problem is i cant find classic insurance that will insure a young driver on a classic insurer policy. any help, names i should call? all help appreciated!!!""

HOW MUCH YOU PAY FOR CaR INSURANCE?!?

HOW MUCH YOU PAY FOR CaR INSURANCE?!?

Car insurance renewal premium amount?

I have a Swift car which is one year old. I have to renew its insurance. What can be the likely estimate of insurance amount

Cheap car insurance for 18 year old female in uk?

Please suggest companies that you have used or know off that are cheap for this age group. The cheapest quote I've found so far was approx. 1780 but I need it to be cheaper. You help will honestly be appreciated

Why is health insurance so expensive?

Why is it so costly, that many Americans cannot afford it, so when they do get sick or need to go to the doctor, they end up drowning in debt anyway?    I can't even afford health insurance so every winter I pray that I don't get bronchitis because I can't afford to go to the Dr. or even the prescription medicine. I know that's sad...but there's nothing I can really do about it unless I quit school, which would further set me back to getting a full-time job that will actually grant me good health insurance.    Is health insurance rising because people aren't taking good care of themselves? Such as not eating a healthy diet, exercising, avoiding smoking, drinking, etc.? Does it have to do with the KIND of health insurance you have-- HMO, PPO, etc.?    Your answers would be greatly appreciated, thanks!

Motorbike cheaper than car insurance?

Is motorbike insurance for learer motorcycle 125cc, significantly cheaper than car insurance for a small city car, for a young man?""

Does state farm insurance cover rental cars if you car gets stolen?

I do have full coverage on the car that was stolen ,but does rental coverage come standard on full coverage insurance?""

Car Insurance For Teens!?!?!?!?!?

I'm about to purchase a used car for $2500. The car will be registered in my name. Do I have to get insurance under my own name or can I get it under my parents name? If I have to do it myself, what is the average rate for 18 year olds. I'll be 19 in December. I live in South Carolina. <When I get the car, do I have to get insurance immediately or do I wait until the temporarily dealer plate expire?""

How can the American health care system be more affordable and accessible?

I want solutions, not a mere description of the problem nor who is to blame.""

How can I find cheap car insurance?

I have a policy with RBC. They just jacked me up by 400 a year....

Insurance for 98 prelude?

i found a 98 prelude that is in my price range but before i could buy it i was told to find how much insurance would go up. i am 17 and have been driving for about a year now and not been in any accidents or had any tickets. i don'tt know much about how car insurance works so if anyone knows from experience or any other way how much it might go up that would be great thanks in advance :)

Hi what is the best 600cc sports bike for an 18 year old bearing in mind the insurance?

I need some help with choosing my first 600cc bike at the moment i ride a skygo 125cc (yes chinese lol) but i turn 18 in a couple of weeks and am looking to buy my first big bike. iv had a look at the cbr 600 but not to keen on the shape to be honest and dont really like the shape of the r6 so im looking at the kawasaki ninja / suzuki gsxr 600 and 750. any ideas would really help insurance would play a big part for me to so i need the cheapest really and what price would i be looking at ? if anyone has any other bikes to suggest i would apreciate that aswell ?

What do you think about Massachusets insurance law?

I dont have a problem with having insurance, but being forced to? What do you think? I need to get a licence to sell insurance.""

Your personal experiences with Progressive Auto insurance?

I just got a lease on a 2010 Honda Civic. Its the first car ever in my name and was a bit pricey for me b/c I don't have an extensive credit history. Progressive was the cheapest auto insurance I could find so I decided to try it. Any pros/cons you've experienced?

Where can I find cheap dental insurance for braces?

I'm 20 years old and I work at Wal-Mart...I'm not sure if I'm considered to be full or part-time.....some weeks I work 40 hours and some weeks I work 32 hours....I REALLY need braces and I have no insurance and I'm clueless to all of this....if I can't get insurance through Wal-Mart...where else could I get it? Help!

Car insurance company's do they make you angry!!!!?

My car insurance compnay (Hastings Direct ) dont use them there sh!t, anyway on the 22nd april I asked for them to send my Insurance certificate as I only had a temp one that ran out 2 weeks before the date I needed to tax my car wich was 31-5-06, but i never got it so I rang again on the 25th of may and they said there sorry but forgot to send it in april & said we will sent it today . still not got it and my car tax ran out on 31st! rang again today and asked were the hell is my insurance certificate .. there reply oh it must of got lost in post we will send it out today!! how bad is that!!! has this or anything like this happen to you.? if so what compnay s I know not to move to them""

Car and Insurance for Teen driver?

I'm 16, turning 17 this year living in Houston, TX I have had my license since August of 2009 and Insurance twice from August to November I think, and from January I believe, until now. I never had any accident, finished Driver's Ed., and have 3.6 GPA. I'm getting my own car now, and I'm looking for low price car with good reliability and low insurance cost. Which car and which insurance company would be the best for me? I'm looking for something cool, sporty. I can drive manual.""

Corvette insurance. i need full coverage for a 1977. not collectors.where is the cheapest???????????????????

i will get collectors insurance in 2 months. right now i need full coverage to get the loan, transfer to me, and get it done friday. please help.""

How much do 22 year olds pay for car insurance?

How much do 22 year olds pay for car insurance?

Temporary vehicle registration and insurance in California for uk citizen?

Hi, Myself and a friend will be travelling to California next month to purchase a 1960s vw campervan. We will be driving it to the shipping port to export it back to the uk. I've been told we can get a temporary registration which lasts 28 days and will allow us to drive the van. I've been on the californian DMV website but cannot find any more information or the forms. no email address either! So far I just know we will need to have an insurance certificate to get the temporary registration. Couple of questions really, Do I need to purchase a van before I can get the temporary registration? Ideally I would like to go buy a van and drive it away there and then from the seller but Im thinking I'll have to put a deposit down or similar and get the info and go to the DMV before I can take it away? Second question is insurance, I guess the best idea would be to go with an American company. Will they insure a uk citizen who's just over for a few weeks with just a uk driving license? Any suggestions of companies who may do so? In the uk we have a company called swift who only deal online. This would be ideal because then I wouldn't need an address forms/certificates to be sent. Any ideas? Reason were not getin it transported is because we want to do a bit of travelling on route to a east coast port.""

Where can I get insurance in New York City?

Hi everyone and thanks for reading, I know it's probably a stupid couple questions but I'm trying to figure this out, perhaps i'm not looking in the right places. Anyway I need to know a couple things: 1) Where can I get health insurance in NEW YORK CITY for my employees? 2) Where can I get insurance again in NYC for my company? Thanks everyone!""

Insurance rate?

Is it more money (insurance wise) for a new driver to drive a new car or a used car. Give an estimate of how much more?

My insurance is 4500-will it go down??UK?

I am from the UK and I am 19 years old. I passed my practical driving test on Monday. I am checking my car insurance and its coming to 4500!!!that's a lot,do you know if it will come down later on and by how much?and another thing is that by next year December I heard women's insurance will go up,to be as equal as men's insurance,so if I don't get a car by then will it go higher thn this??please help!!""

Do I need business use car insurance? For Domino's Pizza Delivery?

I have been offered a job working as a delivery driver for domino's. Currently my car insurance only covers domestic and personal use and not business. The domino's contract says drivers are responsible for ensuring they have the correct insurance but also says they have third party cover. Does this mean they cover the business side or do I still need to get business use insurance as well? If this is the case my insurance is likely to be bumped up by at least 800 a year! Not really worth accepting this job when its only for the summer then is it.

Can a tourist in New jersey buy a car and get an insurance?

My I-94 is valid till Feb 2013, and I wanna buy a car. Can I register it by my name in DMV and get an insurance? I know friends in other states did that (California, Indiana...etc) but I am not sure what about New Jersey""

Car insurance help :(?

would your insurance go up after you graduate high school?

""In NY, If one does not have health insurance and is in an accident, can he get coverage?""

No health insurance and there's an accident and now many medical bills, not long term and no permanent disabilities, but something that may accumulate to thousands of dollars in medical bills, is there any way that you can get (free) coverage through the Medicaid program or some other program?""

""My husband and I are self employed.....We are shopping for health Insurance, what do recommend?""

We are looking for affordable health insurance, but I don't even know where to begin....If you are self employed, who is your provider and why?""

How much does car insurance cost for a 19 year old girl?

Living in South Jersey. 2 years with a license. No accidents/ tickets. GPA 3.0+. Good credit score. For a used car newer than 2003. I just need a rough estimate. I don't want some insurance agent to call me for an quote or get random e-mails from insurance companies, right now before I buy a car.""

What are the best car insurance company's?

In California it is Wawanesa low insurance rates for good drives only

Why is health insurance so expensive?

Why is it so costly, that many Americans cannot afford it, so when they do get sick or need to go to the doctor, they end up drowning in debt anyway?    I can't even afford health insurance so every winter I pray that I don't get bronchitis because I can't afford to go to the Dr. or even the prescription medicine. I know that's sad...but there's nothing I can really do about it unless I quit school, which would further set me back to getting a full-time job that will actually grant me good health insurance.    Is health insurance rising because people aren't taking good care of themselves? Such as not eating a healthy diet, exercising, avoiding smoking, drinking, etc.? Does it have to do with the KIND of health insurance you have-- HMO, PPO, etc.?    Your answers would be greatly appreciated, thanks!

Do I buy car insurance before buying a car from a private party?

I'm buying a car this weekend from a private seller (we are just waiting for the duplicate title to come in the mail; she lost the original). Money won't be exchanged until ...show more

Where to find discount on car Insurance?

Hello, I am too tight to pay to car insurance companies, looking for chear auto insurance but ofcourse good company who can take care of my car, some discount on insurance policy will be welcome.""

Do I need to get tested for smoking to get health insurance?

Im not a smoker but I can have the occasional cigarette with friends

Can I still collect money from a life insurance policy even if my husband divorces me?

I have spousal life insurance through my company on my husband which I am automatically the beneficiary. We are currently going through a divorce and he is currently dying of cancer. If the divorce finalizes before he dies, can I still collect on the life insurance?""

Which is the best homeowners insurance?

i live in california and im getting a home and now i need home insurance which is the best thanks

What would be an estimate for insurance on a 2WD silverado for a 16 year old male living in California?

I recently got my license and am looking at insurances. Can someone find me a quote (or at least give me an idea) for a 16 year old male living in California. The vehicle would be a 2WD 2006 Silverado. I also have a clean record if that helps at all. Thanks!

Who offers the cheapest auto insurance?

Who offers the cheapest auto insurance?

Im 16 and getting a 2010 Camaro LS how much will insurance cost?

I live in fort worth, tx zip code is 76106""

How much is third party car insurance for a 2 litre car?

my dad might be giving me his car after i pass my test when i'm 17 so i was wondering how much roughly a 2 litre engine 5door mazda 626 would be to insure for a 17 year old boy on third party car insurance in the uk?

""Is it cheaper to be put on your parents car insurance, or get your own?""

I'm 16 and I need car insurance, would it be cheaper to be put on my parents, or get my own entirely?""

What does car insurance cost?

I'm 16 almost 17 about to get my license in a small town in Indiana. I get all As except for maybe one B a semester. I went to drivers ed. I will get a 2001 silver volkswagon ...show more

""If i get a speeding ticket, will i receive a notice from insurance?

So i got a speeding ticket in CA. I got the ticket in the mail and payed it and am now going to traffic school so that my insurance wont go up. Will the insurance company send me a notice regarding the ticket even if my rates don't go up?

""No health insurance, what can I do?""

My ex is responsible to provide health insurance for our 9 year old daughter but due to switching jobs no longer has insurance and hasn't since November. If our daughter got sick what are my options for healthcare, could I have them send the bill to my ex? I live in California.""

What car insurance would you recommend for Massachussetians like me?

I'm 21, have been driving since 16, never been pulled over, good grades. I just need the cheapest insurance out there so that I can register my car. Also, what is liability insurance? It sounds expensive...""

Allstate auto insurance/full coverage - rental car?

Does anyone know if Allstate will cover me in a rental car? I have a full coverage policy on my car at the moment. Just wondering if I travel and rent a car would I still be covered?

USAA Auto insurance extra monthly bill?

Hi we've been with USAA for over 10 yrs now for our Auto/Recreation insurance company. This month on our bill i noticed our rates went up by 35+ dollars per month. I called and they said nothing has changed in our policy. They told us because the dates our policy renewed we have an extra bill in this cycle. So they had to charge us more so we wouldn't have to pay 2 bills in 1 month. I am so confused it seems like were making an extra payment for nothing. We Pay every month on time , so I'm not sure why we have to pay an extra payment to avoid a double billing. Only thing they could tell me is that it happens to alot of policyholders once or twice in the lifetime of the policy. Seems strange to me. Thanks for your responses!""

Do i have to have a motorcycle license to get motocycle insurance?

Do i have to have a motorcycle license to get motocycle insurance?

How can life insurance be profitable for insurance companies?

How can personal life insurance actually make a profit for an insurer, when it is universal that any insured person will eventually die? Is it because insurance companies stop offering life insurance cover as soon as the person reaches a certain age, so the vast majority of deaths are not insurable?""

High Risk Auto Insurance - Where can I find the lowest quote online?

Is there any online auto insurance website that specializes in getting the lowest rates on car insurance for high risk drivers? If so can anyone guide me to one?

How much roughly would it cost to be on provisional insurance on my sisters corsa?

How much roughly would it cost to be on provisional insurance on my sisters corsa?

Which is the best dental insurance?

how do i purchace individual dental insurance and which provider is the best. i have Metlife dental through my job and i thought that i was fully covered only to find out that i have a 1000 dollar limit every year, which is like absolute nonesense, just a visit to the dentist with no work done takes about 250 dollars. i need to have a root canal and a crown and its goin to cost around 4500. please help i live in houston,texas if that helps""

Going on my dads car insurance...question?

My dad has Triple A auto insurance ..I do not live with him I am on my own in my own house, I never ask my family for help. But right now my tabs are expired and since I am only 20 I cannot afford auto insurance..they want me to put 300 down just for no fault and I think its ridiculous, Right now I dont have 300 dollars either so I asked my dad if he could help me out temporarily and put me on his car insurance ..i have a 98 cavalier so it shouldnt be that bad. its been 2 weeks and he keeps saying hes talking to the agent after tomorrow I can no longer drive my car because my tabs say march and april is comming up, I told him I would pay whatever costs to add me on it and whatever he needed a month. I was just wondering if they charge extra to add me on his insurance and my car or is he just making it up because I dont think It should take that long...like I said I am living on my own have never lived with my dad because he was in jail for a long time, moved out when i was 18 and can't get help from my mom or him,,I cant even ask to borrow money from them yet I can loan my dad 200 dollars. Feel like its so wrong, I think im doing pretty good being 20 years old working full time owning a house my own car that I bought myself and going to school...and Im having my first child.""

BMW 1991 318is Insurance/Gas/Parts?

I'm looking into getting a car. This would officially be my first. I want it to be a car that is of good quality for at least the next 2 to 3 years. Meaning not too much to spend on gas, parts and insurance. Which are where my questions lie for a 1991 bmw 318is; Does a 1991 bmw 318is take up more gas than the average car of it's time? Also, I understand maintaining a BMW is expensive but is the 1991 bmw 318is pricey to insure? I've heard after a certain year, BMW are a little less expensive to have. I'm absolutely in love with this model and year, I'd love for it to be my first actual car but I'm skeptical. Please answer my questions and thank you for your time!""

What is the average salary for an insurance marketing rep?

I was wanting to get some information on what the average salary might be for a marketing rep for a non-standard auto insurance company might be? Any info or personal knowledge on this would be greatly appreciated, Thank you!""

How much will my motorcycle insurance be??

I'm 19 years old in Arkansas. I'm planning to buy a 2008 Kawasaki Ninja 250R soon. I'm currently under my parents coverage policy with Shelter Insurance. I have good driving records so far...and I just want basic coverage. Oh, and Im also planning to make payments on the bike, so does that mean I have to get full coverage? Any help would be greatly appreciated!""

Why is health insurance so expensive?

Why is it so costly, that many Americans cannot afford it, so when they do get sick or need to go to the doctor, they end up drowning in debt anyway?    I can't even afford health insurance so every winter I pray that I don't get bronchitis because I can't afford to go to the Dr. or even the prescription medicine. I know that's sad...but there's nothing I can really do about it unless I quit school, which would further set me back to getting a full-time job that will actually grant me good health insurance.    Is health insurance rising because people aren't taking good care of themselves? Such as not eating a healthy diet, exercising, avoiding smoking, drinking, etc.? Does it have to do with the KIND of health insurance you have-- HMO, PPO, etc.?    Your answers would be greatly appreciated, thanks!

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